


Into the Black

by tellmesweetlittlelies



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 139,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesweetlittlelies/pseuds/tellmesweetlittlelies
Summary: Tara was sent away to live with relatives after her mom died, but now she's back and Jax isn't sure how to react. Will they survive high school (let alone what comes next)? AU





	1. Ch 1

Jackson Teller had been looking forward to his 16th birthday since he was old enough to push a toy motorcycle across his mother’s living room rug, and Gemma had probably been feeding into his Harley fantasies even earlier than that; some of the motorcycle shit on his walls had been there since his room was occupied by a crib instead of a queen bed. His dad had played his own part in what had morphed from a hobby into an all-out-fucking-obsession- it was no secret that John “JT” Teller was the King of Charming, California, or that his throne at the head of the Reaper table had been procured from the seat of a Panhead. It was finally within reach, the one thing he wanted just as much as a kutte- a 1994 Harley-Davidson Dyna Glide. So it didn’t make sense to him that, now that he was under a week away from having fucking everything, he felt like it was all slipping away from him. He wasn’t even sure why; he also wasn’t sure he gave a fuck. 

It had been easy to deal with his parents’ unspoken expectations of him as a kid. Back then, all he’d had to do to earn a satisfied smirk from JT or a genuine smile from Gemma was to mention his plans to have a bike even more badass than his old man’s. Tumble around with Ope in his backyard after a heated debate about who would prospect first. Crack jokes about how only pussies rode Yamahas and rich boys owned BMWs. Hell, even sliding a “Reaper Crew” tee on his bony, pre-adolescent frame had been more than enough to win approval from his parents.

It was even easier to deal with the other expectations that appeared suddenly the summer before high school and Jax began to grow into that frame. It was as if someone had started slipping something into his beers that June when he had finally convinced JT to let him stick around at the clubhouse past ten o’clock on weekend nights; his father had been distracted and borderline apathetic in the months prior, but he had at least seemed happy his son wanted to spend his extra time near the club that would be his legacy. Gemma had been a different story, raising a severe eyebrow at the thought of him witnessing what Tig probably got himself up to with the various croweaters once the women and children had cleared out of the clubhouse; even worse was the thought of one of them rubbing up on her baby. Still, Gemma, like John likely had, pushed those thoughts aside in favor of clutching at the father-son ties that would cement Jax’s spot at the head of the Reaper table someday. 

But somewhere between that first beer that night at the clubhouse bar (once Gemma had made her way to the lot with a few of the other old ladies trailing behind like so many ducklings) and the first joint Bobby had surreptitiously handed him at the picnic table in the lot in early August, it was clear that the women constantly on the fringes of SAMCRO had their own expectations of him. And whether all the lean muscle he had packed on that summer was the result of manning the tow with the prospects, the general grunt work he was all too eager to do (JT had decided a few weeks into the summer that if his son was going to drink beer from the clubhouse bar he was at least going to help change the kegs and stack the cases) or from some overeager croweater spiking his beers with niacin and T-boosters, his newly filled-out frame had earned him the undivided attention of every woman at the clubhouse under the age of 25, and some above. It was clear from the murmured speculations they didn’t think he could hear, the lengthy gazes at his fly, the whispers in his ear, hell, the fucking looks they gave him, that he was expected to live up to his father’s reputation in more than one way. Not that Gemma hadn’t made it known that she wouldn’t tolerate JT indulging in what the women of SAMCRO were offering- hell, Jax was pretty sure she’d chop off his dick if there was even an inkling John’d spent time in one of the back rooms of the clubhouse with anyone but her. But John Teller’s legend during the time he’d spent gathering the First Nine had just as much to do with his ability to fuck as his ability to fight. Gemma’d centered him and pulled him back on the first front, but this generation of croweaters had adopted a “like-father-like-son” mentality when it came right down to it. 

And so, Jax had worked his way from indulgent makeout sessions on the cracked leather sofas in the corner near the pool table, to groping at Melissa’s (or was it Misty’s?) tits in the darkened hallway leading to the efficiency apartments at the back of the clubhouse, to allowing some 20-year-old porn star lookalike to drag him back to Chibs’ room, push him against the wall and promise to give him an hour he’d never forget. The blowjob had been nothing short of spectacular, by his closest (albeit inexperienced) estimation, and was sure as hell more satisfying than the others grinding up against him under JT’s wary eye. He’d resigned himself, those first couple months, to heading back to the yellowing light of the bathroom and finishing himself off under the guise of taking a leak but as things with SAMCRO started heating up and church became more and more frequent, either JT’s ability or desire to keep an eye on Jax had cooled. His disappearances into the back hallway had gone unnoticed, and Jax was pretty sure by that point that JT had more shit on his plate than the wanderings of his son’s dick. As the summer came to a close, the steady parade of Playboy-worthy women interested in claiming a piece of the Reaper’s son didn’t wane, and Jax found it even easier to satisfy them in that respect than he thought.

* * *

Good fucking thing something is still on familiar territory, Jax thinks to himself as the blonde with a class-A rack and an even better ass slides out of her skirt while he watches from the desk chair. While it’s true that shit had been going south in ways he didn’t understand ever since his father had taken an interest in the Sons’ Belfast holdings and had taken a pronounced dive into complete clusterfuck when Tommy had died partway through his freshman year, at least he could count on this. Women were something he could count on to be easy. Simple, even. And while he’d had plenty of offers from girls at Charming High- had even taken a few of them up on it- he’d been sticking primarily with croweaters ever since Stacey Fitzgerald had caught feelings last spring. Shit, he hadn’t even fucked her, they’d just spent a couple Fridays in a row getting hot and heavy in the back of her old man’s ancient Caddy. Still, she hadn’t taken kindly to his indifference the week in between, and her friends sure as hell hadn’t reacted well when he’d excused himself for a cigarette (his newest compulsion) once she’d slid out of her panties that second Friday. He still wasn’t sure how they’d appeared so quickly in the school parking lot- the track meet was still going on and at least one of them was sporting Charming High sweats. All he knew is that they’d accused him of leading her on, and that the tall one had called him a hypocrite. He wasn’t altogether sure where that had come from, either, since he still hadn’t actually fucked anyone. He guessed it was more or less assumed that he’d been banging the entire female population of Charming, given his club’s, his father’s and his own reputation, but he just hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. He also isn’t sure why- its not like every croweater in Northern California and several girls in his class hadn’t tried. Maybe it’s something to do with how nothing had felt right since Tommy, or maybe the general feeling of unease that’s been washing over him since JT’s been coming and going from Ireland. But while girls are easy, simple…familiar, and while he sure as hell feels more relaxed- hell, at peace- when he’s in a dark room, leaning back with a pair of lips wrapped around his cock… maybe its just taking things that next step that seems like it’ll introduce a whole new level of shit to add to the heap. 

In any case, as what’s-her-name moves to wiggle out of her panties, Jax grabs her hands and puts them on his zipper instead. The blonde’s hooded gaze barely registers the change in pace and her fingers make quick work of his fly. As he lifts his hips and allows her to yank down his jeans and tunnel her hand into the white boxers beneath, he closes his eyes and prepares himself for the onslaught of mind-emptying pleasure that will come once she rids him of the boxers and takes him into her mouth. Instead, a hand grips the back of his neck, causing his eyes to fly back open as her bronzed face closes in on his own. Shit. 

“Naw, darlin’, I’m not into all that.” Jax says, lifting his chin a bit. He has to make a concerted effort to keep the trademark Teller smirk on his lips, because from the brief look of…something…in the croweater’s eyes, she’s now wondering what the fuck is wrong with him. And there might be something wrong with him because somewhere along the way, he’s made the unconscious decision that while he’s OK with lips on his cock, he’s no longer OK with lips on his own; he’s also become something of a prize (distant, but assuredly attainable) amongst the women of SAMCRO- first ‘eater to officially tag the Prince wins, or some shit like that. But what the fuck kind of man with his reputation has intimacy issues? Shaking her head, the blonde apparently decides she doesn’t care about whatever’s going on in his head and kisses his chest instead. As she works her way down, Jax closes his eyes again, this time in relief. He isn’t sure when, exactly, blowjobs became a compulsion with him, but he sure as shit knows how much easier it is to escape when all that’s expected of him is to put his hands behind his head and lose himself in the sensation. And as the blonde makes her way to his navel, works his boxers over his hips and- fucking finally- takes his heavy length into her mouth, he’s drifting far away from JT, Ireland, his mother, Tommy, and whoever-the-fuck-she-is. Bliss.


	2. Ch 2

Jax is laying face-down on his bed when he hears the footsteps and voices in the hallway. 

“Shhhh! John! Let him sleep, he has school in the morning!” comes Gemma’s voice in a loud whisper, though it’s too late- his door is already cracked open and a sliver of light falls across his bed from the hallway. Jax doesn’t even pull his face all the way out of his pillow- he hasn’t spoken to his father in weeks, and he isn’t about to start now that its some fucking insane hour of the morning, and definitely not just because JT all of a sudden has the urge for a heart to heart. 

“Son?” JT’s voice breaks into the relative silence of the bedroom, but again, Jax doesn’t bother to lift his head when his father sits on the edge of his bed. “You ‘kay? I was hopin’ we could… talk. I dunno….” As his father’s voice trails off, Jax wonders if he’s drunk. It would make sense: every interaction he’s had with him over the past few months has featured either a distracted and distant JT or a drunk JT, and Jax is beginning to get pissed off. He raises his head a bit, just enough to catch a whiff of the Jameson emanating from his father’s pores, and lets his face fall back into his pillow with a groan.

“Tomorrow, bro.” 

“Goddammit, son, I’m not your bro…” JT’s pissed now, and Jax feels a glimmer of satisfaction that at least he’s not alone on that front. They haven’t talked for weeks because JT’s been in fucking Belfast for weeks, but even before his trips became frequent he’d been all but drowning himself in club shit since Tommy’s death. 

Tommy.  
Jax feels a sharp edge of grief knife its way through the bubbling resentment. It’ll be a year this winter since Tommy died, and while he’s taken a page out of his father’s (well, the club’s) book to help him deal with the pain of losing his little brother, he can’t say its been effective. His dad spends his days at T-M, his nights at the clubhouse with his brothers buried in weed, booze, and pussy (well, at least the former, since Gemma is a pretty constant presence at the clubhouse), and the times in between on his bike when he hasn’t been in Ireland.

Jax spends his days at T-M (though school’s about to start up again, to Jax’s chagrin), his nights at the clubhouse buried in the same vices as the patched members, and the time in between wishing he had a bike to drive out some of his demons. At least he used to wish he had a bike. Lately, he’s come to the conclusion that maybe he and his dad’s way of dealing with shit, including bikes, is probably horseshit. Neither of them is doing particularly well with… anything, really. He’s still missing Tommy more than ever, Gemma’s been more up his ass than ever (when she’s not smoking at the dining room table and clutching a whiskey and coke), and JT’s just been… fucking nowhere. Even when he’s around, he’s not really here. Now, however, JT wants to fucking talk all of a sudden. 

“Son-“

“Dad. I was fucking sleeping. Can’t this shit wait?” 

“Not really. Your birthday is next week. We need to-“

“DAD. Go the fuck away.” From the edge of his bed, Jax can hear the telltale sounds of the nervous habit he shares with his father- both hands scrubbing across a face and down a sculpted chin- though JT’s got a beard while Jax’s is still fairly sparse. JT sits for a moment, apparently unsure what to do, then slowly stands and makes his way back to the door. Another pause, then- 

“’Night, son. We’ll talk tomorrow…” JT’s voice trails off as he hoists himself uncertainly off the edge of the bed and shuffles towards the door. After it closes, Jax rolls over and lets out the breath he’s been half holding in since this joke of a conversation started. Shit. Now he’s wide awake, and being wide awake in the privacy of his room sure as hell hasn’t led to anything good lately. In an effort to avoid the inevitable thoughts of Tommy and the near-literal pile of shit his relationship with his father’s turning out to be, Jax fumbles around in his nightstand for his smokes. Lighting one, he half-sits against the wooden headboard and drops his head back as the smoke curls around him-

“I told you that shit’ll kill ya, Jackson” 

“Shit!” Jax drops his cigarette onto his sheet-covered lap and has to scramble to pick it up before turning his attention to the voice coming through the darkness. It takes a moment before Gemma’s form comes into focus. She appears to be leaning against his dresser on the other side of the room. Vaguely, Jax wonders if she’d come in with JT or afterward. Had she heard his conversation- if you could call that bullshit a conversation-with his father? He sighs- it’s clear this night is just bound to keep fucking going downhill. He takes a deep drag before responding, cigarette in hand.

“Christ, Ma, you’re talking about the smokes killing me…are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack? Because that shit could definitely-“

“You don’t need to educate me about the family flaw, Jackson.” She stalks across the room and snatches the cig out of his hand. “This shit?” Gemma brandishes the cigarette above his head- “This shit and CHD, they don’t go together.” Glaring at him in the weak light filtering through his blinds, she seizes the ashtray from his nightstand and stubs the cigarette out. Jax rolls his eyes. 

“Right, and that’s why you smoke almost a pack a day.” His eyes fall to the prominent scar on his mother’s chest that’s barely visible in the darkness. He isn’t sure she notices where his eyes land until she cuts back-

“Yeah, and I’m a fucking adult, Jackson. I get regular checkups and haven’t had a single issue since I got this scar. Your smart ass, however, is an “unknown”. Your heart was strong at birth, but so was Thomas’…” 

And just like that, Gemma Teller loses her bluster. Jax can almost see the indignation leak out of her as she, like JT had ten minutes earlier, sinks down on the edge of his bed, still gripping the ashtray like a lifeline. Jax suddenly realizes that, while it’s true that Gemma has been more overbearing than usual since Tommy’s death, he can’t remember the last time he heard Thomas’ name cross her lips. They haven’t spoken of him at all recently, maybe not even since that stretch of days a while after the funeral when Jax couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed for anything other than to steal a couple cigarettes and a boot of Jameson from the kitchen. Gemma had come to him then, too, though she hadn’t mentioned the overflowing ashtray or the cluster of plastic bottles next to his nightstand. 

_“Thomas wouldn’t want to see you like this, Jackson…” Gemma’s voice- much gentler than Jax was used to though he supposed it made sense since she wasn’t barking orders at croweaters-drifted through the stillness of Jax’s room and trailed off when he curled onto his side, away from her. Fuck this._

_“Jackson…” she said again, softer still. Jax didn’t respond- he didn’t trust himself to say anything, not with the golf-ball-sized lump in his throat, the pounding in his head, and the goddamn gaping hole he was sure was forming in his chest. To his dismay, the tears he’d managed to keep at bay most of the day began to stream down his cheek and spread on his still-damp pillowcase. Great. And what the fuck did she want him to say, anyway? Tommy was fucking dead. He wasn’t coming back, and nothing was going to be the same. Ever. If his parents could hole up in their own respective hells, if they could shut out the world and deal with this shit in their own way, why couldn’t he?_

_“Jackson-” a light touch landed on his arm. Reflexively, he jerked away, dropping his arm across his face while he tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape from his throat. Jax could almost taste his mother’s uncertainty in that moment; he knew her own grief was still raw, even more so than his own- it had likely taken every last ounce of resolve in her to drag herself away from what had become her own private wake for Tommy. He’d seen the ever-present bottle of whiskey and family photo album migrating around the house with Gemma on his brief ventures out of his room- one day on his parents’ bed, the next on the coffee table as she reclined on the couch, but most often on the kitchen table as she smoked cigarette after cigarette._

_He wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him the last time he’d slid a few smokes out of the pack in JT’s cut on the coat hook near the back door. Even though he’d had to cross in front of the pass-through between the kitchen and the rest of the house- her line of vision should have been perfect to have spotted him immediately- something in her vacant stare told him he likely hadn’t even registered. That time, he’d satisfied his growing curiosity about his father’s whereabouts, too. He hadn’t seen JT since the day after the funeral, but as Jax stole into the hallway bathroom, he had noticed a bedroom door standing open, like it hadn’t been since Tommy had entered the hospital weeks before. A quick glimpse of his father, sitting on the floor with his back to Tommy’s empty bed, his head in his hands, had been enough to convince him that they were all dealing with this in the same goddamn way. Alone._

_So why the fuck was his mother in here now? The hairs prickled on the back of Jax’s neck, and he could sense her reaching out towards him again. Her touch landed on his forehead this time._

_“Listen, sweetheart. You’ve got to stop this. Gotta rejoin the land of the living, ya know? Thomas loved you- loved all of us- and he’d agree that what happened is a giant pile of shit, but he sure as hell wouldn’t want us marinating in it like this.” Gemma stroked his forehead as he attempted, yet again, to swallow around the giant lump in his throat._

_“I just miss him,” Jax whispered, to no one in particular. “Doesn’t seem right to just move on and act like he was never here.” Gemma tugged his arm away from his face and Jax willed his traitorous eyes to stop producing goddamn stupid, fucking useless tears. He was a lot of things- a son, a future Son, a C student, the sole focus of half the girls in his grade- but he wasn’t a pussy._

_“I know, baby.” Gemma kissed his forehead, dumped his ashtray and several empties into the trashcan near his bed, picked up the whole lot and headed for the exit, flicking the overhead light on as she walked through his door once again. As Jax squinted into the sudden light, he heard her call down the hallway. “John! You got Church in a half hour!”_

He thinks, though he’s not positive, that’s the last time he and either of his parents had discussed Tommy. What passed between JT and Gemma in the privacy of their bedroom, or with patched members at the clubhouse, Jax wasn’t sure, but he’s damn sure there wasn’t any big family meeting about how to live life as a family of three instead of four. He’s also sure Gemma was the reason there was no “head shrinker” listening to any of their thoughts and feelings on the matter. 

Shit, maybe that’s why he’d been so easily able to return to school, girls, and life as normal the following week- nobody was stirring up the shit pot that was simmering just underneath all of them; Jax, Gemma, JT, they all went back to life as they’d known it- JT to club business, Gemma to ordering around croweaters, gardening, and running shit in general, Jax to school and hanging out at the clubhouse with Ope and eyeing croweaters. Sure, school was a buzzkill, but it turned out anything was better than being alone with his thoughts. 

Over the intervening months, he’d gotten pretty good at maintaining the Jax Teller persona Charming had come to expect: the charm, the smirk, the fuck-you attitude. The good thing about pushing down his feelings and slipping back into the swagger he was best known for was that it prevented him from leaking whatever-the-fuck was going on in his head into his daily activities; nobody noticed that the panty-dropping grin didn’t reach his eyes, or if they did, they didn’t care. Only Opie bothered to probe any further, but after Jax quickly dismissed his hesitant questions with a “I’m aight, man”, Ope had settled with a clap to Jax’s shoulder and a brief nod. And it was enough, Jax had thought, then. It had to be. 

He suddenly realizes Gemma’s been talking. 

“… coming up. He really wants to be there for you, sweetheart. Let him. Please.”

Shit. What was she saying? Someone- his dad, maybe- wanted to “be there” for him? He’d be damned if that didn’t sound like the John Teller he knew at all. In any case, he really wasn’t up for having the same conversation with Gemma that he’d just shut down with JT. Especially not in the middle of the night.

“Ma, you just told dad to let me sleep. I got the first day of school tomorrow, shouldn’t I be resting up or some shit?” Gemma’s face cracks into a rueful grin at his words. 

“Yeah, okay, Jackson. You be sure to show up extra early so you can sit in the front row and start getting those A’s on the first day. Asshole.” She ruffles his hair affectionately. “But think about what I said. Your birthday, your bike… that’s all shit your dad wants to be a part of. Needs to be a part of. I know I sort of take over your birthday every year-“

“Sort of?” Jax raises an eyebrow.

“Get that smirk off your face. Alright, I take over your birthday every year, it’s what I do. I plan shit. But this year is different and you know it. It’s more than just the Harley and the party, this is the first big event at the clubhouse since… since Thomas. It’s definitely the first family event at the clubhouse since then. It’s important, not just to your dad and I, but to the club. To the other families. We need to make sure everyone knows that this shit didn’t end us. Show ‘em the Tellers are still solid.”

Christ, even his goddamn birthday is about the club. Jax supposes that’s not really a fair nit to pick, since getting his bike was basically the gateway to all that was SAMCRO, but it still stings a bit to hear that his dad places more importance on the party bringing the club together than on bringing their family back together. But he gets it. JT had been pouring himself into club business, and it made sense that he’d be expected to do his part. If JT wants to talk, he’ll fucking talk. 

“Okay, mom. I’ll talk to him.”

“Yeah?” Gemma’s eyes search his own, for what, he’s not sure. He hopes she’s found whatever she’s looking for, and decides to play it lighthearted so this midnight conversation can fucking end already. 

“Yeah. Now lemme get my beauty sleep, Wouldn’t want to leave anyone disappointed tomorrow morning.” He cracks a grin and wills his mother to see the dismissal for what it was.

“Yeah, yeah, we wouldn’t want to keep your fan club waiting, “ Gemma shakes her head but smiles along with him. “Get some sleep, I’ll let your dad know you’ll be at the clubhouse after school to set things up for your party.” She kisses his forehead, eases off his bed, and slips out of his room, softly closing the door behind her. 

Jax leans his head on the headboard, once again alone with his thoughts. He’s still not quite sure why he’s been so apathetic about his 16th birthday, his bike, but he figures it has something to do with how generally shitty everything’s felt since Tommy died. Maybe his mom’s right. Maybe showing the family they’d chosen that the family they were given was as whole as fucking possible given the circumstances- that the past was in the past- was a solid move. The three of them dealing with things alone hadn’t been successful, but maybe this show of unity would evolve into something more than a show. Or maybe once he had his bike, everything would come together again. He wasn’t a pussy, and its been almost a year. This shit with Tommy- about Tommy- would clear itself up. It had to.


	3. Ch 3

_Alone, listless_  
Breakfast table in an otherwise empty room  
Young girl, violence  
Center of her own attention  
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it  
Tries to make her proud  
The shades go down, it's in her head  
Painted room, can't deny there's something wrong 

_Don't call me daughter, not fit to_  
The picture kept will remind me  
Don't call me daughter, not fit to  
The picture kept will remind me  
Don't call me 

Tara stares at the ceiling as the clock radio blares Eddie Vedder’s voice into the semidarkness. Eyes adjusting, she contemplates the day stretching out before her like a desert highway. Freaking school. Worse yet, the first day at Charming High. She’s not used to feeling this way about school, either; just last year, she’d been so enthusiastic about it that she’d taken early bird classes, volunteered in the tutoring program, and landed herself at the top of her grade. In fact, she’s set to take mostly AP classes at CHS. 

The problem definitely has nothing to do with her academic abilities and everything to do with the fact that she has absolutely no friends in Charming. Sure, she grew up here, went to most of elementary school here, but almost seven years have gone by since she laid eyes on any of these people. Christ, none of them even know she’s back, and she doubts they’d give a shit anyway. With a groan, Tara rolls out of bed and clicks on the lamp. Surveying the room, she feels even more out of her element than she had moments before. 

The walls are still painted the delicate lilac she and her mom had settled on the summer before she turned eight; they’d spent half the month of June painstakingly removing the peeling wallpaper that had likely graced the room since before Grace and Rick Knowles had purchased the home, and the rest of it decorating. Tara sighs as she takes in the carefully stenciled lilacs and butterflies, the white ruffled curtains, and the dolls lining her dresser; the eight-year-old version of herself had been the consummate tomboy in practice, but she’d secretly loved the utter femininity of her bedroom and she’s now fairly certain that had all been Grace’s influence. 

As unfitting as this room is for a nearly sixteen-year-old, it had felt like home 7 years ago, before everything went so wrong. Before she’d started hearing her mother crying softly at night. Before she’d noticed her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. Before her parents had started the conversation that would change everything. 

_The back door slammed as Tara bolted inside, flushed from the ride home from school. It was over ninety degrees on a mid-September day, and the pitcher of Kool-Aid in the fridge had been calling her name since they’d hit Maple Street. She yanked the refrigerator door open and stuck her head inside, pausing a moment to let the cool air rush over her face before lifting the heavy pitcher from the top shelf._

_As she turned towards the island with her burden, she almost dropped the pitcher when she noticed both of her parents sitting at the kitchen table. Tara’s face crinkled in confusion for a moment- both her parents worked, Grace as a nurse at Charming’s only hospital, Rick as a driver for a regional grocer- and she was accustomed to being a latchkey kid. Most days, she’d let herself in, dump her backpack, and head right back outside to while away the afternoon with Harry, Jackson and some of the boys on her block._

_“Oh, hey mom. Hey daddy,” Tara began to rummage in the cabinet for a juice glass. “ I was just getting something to drink and then Harry’s going to-“_

_“Sweetheart, we need to talk to you a minute” Grace said softly, the ghost of a smile on her face. Something in her voice made Tara replace the glass she was holding and wrinkle her brow again. What was going on? She spared a glance out the kitchen window at the boys waiting on the sidewalk near the side yard, then focused her attention back on her father, who looked, well, lost. Her stomach knotted- was something wrong? Were they moving? Had her father lost his job? Both of those things had happened to her friend Emily just last year. Completely forgetting the boys outside and the pitcher on the counter, Tara nervously crossed the room and sank down into the third chair._

_“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Her voice was shaky, which made sense because her very insides felt shaky. Her dad smiled, weakly, but she could tell the smile wasn’t real- it didn’t quite make it all the way to his eyes, which still looked lost, like he wasn’t sure what to do next._

_“Baby… your mom and I just came from St. Thomas.” Tara was confused again. Her mom worked there, but her dad rarely did much of anything in town during the day- he was either on the road or asleep. Why would he have been at work with her mom? She realized he was still talking and tried to focus. “We weren’t sure what was wrong, but maybe you noticed your mom hasn’t been feeling so great lately?” No, Tara hadn’t. She shook her head, confused._

_“Tara,” her mom murmured gently. Slowly, Tara dragged her eyes away from her father to see that same, soft almost-smile on her mom’s face. Immediately, she felt a little better. It couldn’t be anything too awful, could it? Grace took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “Honey, a few months ago, you remember how I had that flu? I couldn’t keep anything down, could barely get out of bed? Well, I went to the doctor then, and they found a mass on my liver.” Tara stared back blankly. A mass of what?_

_Sensing her daughter’s confusion, Grace pressed on. “They had to do some tests, make sure what they thought was happening was actually happening. They found out it was cancer, sweetie. That’s when certain cells in your body just won’t stop growing. That can mess up other things in your body, and it makes you sick.” Tara felt sick, herself. Her mom was sick? They’d just spent all this time redecorating her room, stripping wallpaper, painting… a wave of guilt washed over her as she thought about all the time her mom had spent working so hard, for her. She should've been resting, then, instead! What if-_

_“Tara, there’s something else…” Her father’s voice faltered, and he looked to her mother again. It had always been clear to Tara who the backbone of this family was, even if she was sick; her mom had always been the one Tara went to with problems and the same seemed to have been true for her father. Even now, he was looking at her with something in his eyes even an eight-year-old could recognize as nothing but love and one hundred percent trust that she would be able to support them through this. Tara had a fleeting thought that things should be the other way around, they should be supporting her, she was the sick one._

_“We’ve known about the cancer for a little while,” Grace continued, “ we just didn’t want to upset you until we knew everything there was to know. But what we found out today, well… we think it’s best we tell you while there’s time.” Once again, Tara was hit with confusion. Time? Time for what? Maybe her mom had to go away to get better?_

_“Tara…” her mom reached across the table and took Tara’s hand, squeezing it so tightly Tara felt every single one of the bones in her hand protest. “The doctor told me today that I needed to start getting ready. They’ve been trying to help me, gave me medicine, did some other treatments especially for cancer… but it just isn’t working. They think I’ll have until about Christmas.”_

_Tara stared at her parents, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. Her father still wasn’t meeting her eyes and was clearly choking back tears; her mother still had that same near-smile on her face, though tears were now shining in her eyes. Tara tried to speak, tried to ask what happened after Christmas, tried to say something, but all she could manage was to open her mouth and then it was like someone had sat on her chest and stolen her voice._

_“Honey, we’ll make the best of the time we have. That, I promise you. But we need you to understand that some time in the next several months or so, I’m going to die.”_

_The words slammed into Tara like she’d slammed into that brick wall that time she’d tried to one-up Kyle’s bike skid and had flown over the handlebars. The only difference was that this time, she was pretty sure the pain was worse and it wasn’t going to go away with a trip to the ER for a cast. Hot tears ran down her face and though she could still see her parents, wavering as if she was viewing them through privacy glass, it was as if they weren’t there at all as she rose to her feet and blindly headed towards the back door._

_Pushing the door open, she stumbled past Harry, Jackson, and the other boys, who had apparently grown tired of waiting for her outside and were about to knock on her back door. Ignoring the voices calling after her, she listened only to the voice inside her head. “Run” it said. “Run until you can’t run anymore.” Picking up speed, she jogged past her bike, past Harry’s house, past the vacant house on the corner. By the time she got to the park, she was running as she’d never run before; lungs burning, she pushed past the branches of the giant willow at the park’s center and fell to her knees in it’s shelter as finally, finally, a sob burst from her throat. Chest heaving, she doubled over- head nearly touching her knees- and let the tears come._

_It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes later that she heard them, though it felt like she had knelt there crying for hours. Neither said anything, not even her name, but she was vaguely aware of their footfalls behind her through the soft grass and fallen leaves beneath the tree. Even without looking, she knew immediately who owned the two pairs of arms that encircled her from either side without a word. And as the minutes ticked by, Tara, Jackson and Harry huddled under the willow as if they were the only ones in the world. ___

__Tara smiles fondly at the memory of the two boys hugging and comforting her like they were three times their age. That hadn’t stopped as her mother’s illness had progressed, either; both Jackson and Harry had always seemed to know what she needed without being told, whether that was watching TV over at Harry’s, an extra long bike ride after school, or a steadying hug before she walked up her driveway towards her new reality. Her mom had hung on until just after the New Year and had slipped away just as calm and serene as she did everything else. But if her passing had been serene, the weeks following it had been anything but._ _

__It had taken under a month for Rick to completely lose himself in grief, but what Tara knew now was that it hadn’t been only the grief that had transformed her father from a loving but withdrawn man into a shell, merely existing in the space the love of his life had vacated so suddenly. All she’d known at the time is that he was “just really sad”, according to Harry’s father, Piney and her mom’s aunt Jane who had come to help with the funeral and stayed when it was clear just how lost Rick was. The two of them had managed to shield her from his late night binges at the kitchen table- and later from the fact that he stopped returning home at all- by providing plenty of company and distraction, or shuttling her two doors down to the Winston’s when things got bad. However, over the last several years, Jane had filled in some of the gaps._ _

__It was the night that Rick had destroyed the master bedroom and half of the living room in a rage and then washed down most of his anti-anxiety prescription with a bottle of Jack Daniels that the decision was made: Tara would return to San Diego with her great aunt, at least until things were more under control. Tara didn’t remember her father’s hospital stay or the explosive argument he’d had with Piney the day he was released, but she did remember looking out the back of Jane’s station wagon and watching her father staring at her from the driveway as they set off for San Diego. He’d visited a few times, usually around her birthday and holidays, but for the most part, the past seven years had been filled with school activities, studying, and the occasional party._ _

__Tara hoists herself out of bed with a sigh and crosses the room to pick up a hairbrush among the dusty trinkets lining her vanity. Christ, she’s definitely going to have to dust in here, since it looks like Rick hasn’t set foot in her room since she’d left it. Absently brushing her hair, she inspects herself in the dusty vanity mirror. Okay hair, nice and thick, with a bit of auburn peeking through the dark brown. Nice eyes, a lot like her mother’s, though she remembersGrace’s being a darker, richer green, with much fuller lashes. Still, just a bit of mascara is all she’s going to bother with today. Setting the brush aside, Tara turns to the side: decent rack, not a bad ass, and a relatively tight stomach. The only thing missing is the Southern California tan- back in San Diego, she’d learned quickly that any time spent at the beach had better be prefaced by a good dose of sunscreen, since her pale, smooth skin tended to burn in minutes. Sitting under an umbrella for most of every beach trip hadn’t been particularly conducive to meeting friend, or boys, for that matter. Liam had been particularly persistent, however, and he’d even managed to get Jane to agree to a few dates towards the end of the school year._ _

__Smiling at the memory of that last date, Tara quickly applies mascara and chapstick. Rubbing a finger on her lower lip, she feels a brief flutter at the thought of Liam’s lips pressing against her own, and of his hands clutching her hips to press them more firmly against his body. Yeah, it’s obvious he had at least desired her, and she him. Too bad it had never gotten a chance to turn into anything beyond that- just a week later, Jane had had her first stroke and by the end of the summer, Jane was dead and Tara was in the passenger seat of Rick’s Cutlass, headed back to Charming as ordered by the State of California._ _

__Things had slipped into an uneasy peace as father and daughter maneuvered around each other and the ghost of Grace Knowles in the house that hadn’t changed in seven years. Her mother’s shoes still stood in the coat closet, her perfume on the bureau, her work schedule on the refrigerator door. It’s as if time had stopped for Rick Knowles with the exception of one thing- Tara’s no longer a bright, nine-year-old tomboy, but a bright, nearly-sixteen-year-old teenager, and neither father nor daughter have any idea how to handle the chasm that had grown during the intervening years. So, they came to an unspoken agreement to simply exist, side by side, and leave the rest be._ _

__Tara’s relieved that it doesn’t seem that Rick’s kept up with the pills, though she’s fairly certain the number of empty plastic Jim Beam bottles in the bucket in the garage has at least doubled since she returned to Charming a week ago. Still, she prefers that to drunken rages on the front lawn and halfhearted suicide attempts._ _

__Fishing a white tank, a blue plaid shirt, and a pair of cutoffs from her duffel bag, Tara slides out of her oversized Sea World t-shirt and gets dressed, adding her favorite pair of black Converse. With one last look in the mirror, she deems herself as ready as she’ll ever be and grabs her faded backpack from the floor. Rick’s been holed up in the master bedroom since about ten o’clock last night, so she’s spared the awkward first day of school conversation as she creeps down the hallway, through the kitchen- stopping momentarily to grab a mealy apple- and out the back door._ _

__Shit. Even the air feels different here. Somehow, standing here on her childhood sidewalk and chewing on the apple, she feels more confined than she had the whole seven years in her aunt’s tiny two-bedroom apartment. Reluctantly, she heads up the sidewalk and turns toward Charming High, the opposite direction she’d taken years ago on her Huffy towards Charming Elementary. Back then, she’d always stopped in Harry’s driveway on her way, two doors down. Tara smiles at the memory of baby-faced Harry, usually tripping over his oversized feet while he scrambled out to meet her, Piney’s voice wafting out the screen door to “get his ass in gear, shithead”._ _

__She sobers almost immediately, wishing things hadn’t gone to complete shit, and wonders what would have happened if she’d stayed in Charming. Seven years ago, her third grade self had imagined them all at sixteen, the boys riding off to school on a yet-to-be-determined model of Harley Davidson, usually with her on the back, hair in the wind and tossing wisecracks. Sometimes, she had imagined herself on her own Harley and just as she’d left them in the dust on their bikes at age eight, she’d smirk and beat them off the line at the stoplight on 15th and Maple._ _

__With a snort, Tara quickens her step. While Rick probably wouldn’t give a shit whether she was on the back or the front of a bike, he sure as hell isn’t going to buy her one and the chances of her riding on either Jackson or Harry’s bikes had been shot further to hell with each day that had passed since she’d spoken to them. No, they’d probably be riding to school with a series of Wendy Peffercorn lookalikes and taking off early to hang out at the clubhouse, which has been their daydream since she’s known them. She’s just going to have to hope Kyle, little David Hale, or someone else she vaguely remembers from back then takes pity on her and strikes up a conversation. For about the hundredth time since she’s been back, Tara wishes she’d bothered to get to know some of the girls she’d gone to elementary school with._ _

__Somewhere behind her, a vehicle approaches. Barely. Hell, it sounds like it’s held together with twine, JB Weld and duct tape. From the looks of the ancient tan pickup truck as it passes her, she might be right- there’s more rust than chrome on the rear bumper and the back slider window is covered by a square of cardboard. Tara watches as it reaches the stop sign half a block ahead but doesn’t pull forward- she briefly wonders if the driver is having trouble getting the truck in gear and stifles a grin. As she gets alongside the truck, though, she slows as whoever it is leans over and unrolls the passenger window. Staring, she realizes that the driver is staring right back at her. In the cab is the unmistakable large build, round face, and coarse hair she’d recognize anywhere, even years after she’d last seen him._ _

__“Harry?” she says uncertainly._ _

__“Get in.”_ _


	4. Chapter 4

Tara gapes at Harry, who’s still leaning across the bench seat of his ancient pickup, his expression unreadable as always. 

“Get in,” he repeats, this time reaching to pop the handle of the beaten passenger door. She stares as it creaks open and thumps against the frame. She hasn’t seen him since they were nine, but nearly everything about him seems familiar, somehow. Nobody could have ever said Harry Winston was a small kid and from her vantage point on the sidewalk, he’s still going to tower over most guys his age. With his size, his bushy hair and the stubble filling in on his chin, he could easily pass for eighteen but Tara remembers his round baby face and dimpled cheeks almost as well as she remembers her own nine-year-old self. Somehow, the two versions of him fit together perfectly.

“For fuck’s sake, Tara, we gotta go. There’ll be time for a staring contest later.” Her face reddening, Tara gingerly climbs into the passenger seat, slams the door, and clutches her backpack like a shield. They sit in silence for a minute while she wonders what the hell he’s thinking. She ventures a glance over at Harry- he’s eyeing her… cautiously, she thinks. There’s also a hint of disbelief, as if he’s not sure she’s real. Hell, Tara’s not sure this is real. Moments ago, she’d been walking towards Charming High, resigned to weeks- if not a school year- of isolation. Now, she feels a faint glimmer of hope that maybe Harry, at least, hadn’t felt abandoned when she’d left without a goodbye. 

“So… how’ve you been, Harry?” Tara cringes, internally. What is she, forty, with the bullshit questions? And what’s with the wavery voice; where’s the self-confidence she’d had back then, back in San Diego, even? Not for the first time in the week or so she’s been back, she feels a growing disdain for the effect this town seems to have on her. She watches as something crosses his face at her words, pushing aside her disgust with herself. 

“It’s Opie now.” Opie? What the hell? She doesn’t remember Piney being all that into Andy Griffith and the boy sitting next to her now is about the last person she’d expect to find in Mayberry; she doubts oversized SAMCRO t-shirts, wallet chains, and boots are Aunt Bee approved. He must have noticed her mulling things over because a grim smile settles onto his face- “Don’t ask.” Tara raises her hands in surrender.

“Okay, fine. How’ve you been… Opie?” Grinning, she cocks an eyebrow at him, a little relieved to be sounding more like her usual, smartass self. He shoots her a look she can’t interpret and the grin slides off her face just as quickly as it came. 

“Honestly, Tara? It’s been shit.” He turns down a side street, away from the route towards the high school, and a fleeting worry about being late for the first day of school niggles as she fixes a questioning look his way. He must figure the question in her eyes has to do with his comment and not their destination, because he continues. “Look, we ain’t really got time to hash all this shit out, but the short version is: Ma took off, Pops is going through a bottle of tequila every other night or so, and my truck’s a piece of shit.” Suddenly, he cracks a smile and shakes his head. “Christ, I sound like a goddamn country song.” To her utter disbelief, he starts to sing, in what she surmises is a horrible imitation of Willie Nelson or somebody. “Mom’s been goooone for a whiiiiiiiile-“

“- and my truck is a piiiiiiile” Tara finishes, matching his sing-song voice. She glances at Harry- no, Opie- again to see him smirking. He catches her glance out of the corner of his eye and just like that, the two dissolve into laughter and all thoughts of being late to school flee Tara’s mind as she basks in the familiarity of sitting and laughing with her friend. 

“My old man is a druuuuuunk-“ Opie continues, with gusto. Tara can barely respond, she’s laughing so hard. 

“I can’t… I don’t even have anything to add to that…” her voice trails off into laughter. When she finally catches her breath several seconds later, she continues, “I guess we all know my dad could be the subject of a sad old song any day of the week.” Opie sobers and shoots her a compassionate glance as he steers the truck into another turn. 

“Yeah, Pops said he hasn’t been the same since your mom.” It’s a straightforward observation Tara acknowledges with a simple nod, turning her attention back to the road. Opie’d always been able to know what she’s thinking, what to say, what not to say, and when simply sitting in silence is what she needs. Looks like that, at least, hasn’t changed. 

Vaguely, she’s aware they’re in a residential neighborhood that’s somewhat familiar. The park on the corner, the moderately nicer homes, the brick firehouse with the flag snapping in the breeze… she’s been here before, but it isn’t the neighborhood surrounding CHS, she’s pretty sure. Opie slows to a stop in front of a midcentury modern she barely has a chance to contemplate before he turns to her with somber eyes. 

“He’s been through it this past year or so. Like, really through it. I’m not gonna sit here and air all his shit, that ain’t for me to do. But I’m the only one he talks to, I think, only he really never talks about anything. To anyone. Now that you’re back, though…” Opie trails off, moving his gaze over her shoulder and towards the house they’re parked in front of. 

He? Who? Tara raises her brows at Opie before turning towards the house to see a tall teenager with a messy blond head slam the front door, hop down the steps, and swagger down the driveway towards them.

* * *

_Freezin', rests his head on a pillow made of concrete, again_  
Oh, feelin' maybe he'll see a little better, set of days, ooh yeah  
Oh, hand out, faces that he sees time again ain't that familiar  
Oh yeah  
Oh, dark grin, he can't help, when he's happy looks insane, oh yeah 

_Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies_  
Oh, he don't know, so he chases them away  
Someday yet, he'll begin his life again  
Life again, life again... 

Blearily, Jax rubs his face with both hands and opens one eye to look at the clock radio on his nightstand; fuck, its only 7 AM, too early to try to decipher Vedder’s slurred words. The guy has a great voice but Jax can’t understand how he’s supposed to enjoy a song that sounds like it’s being sung after a 12 pack and a couple shots. He blindly smacks at the radio with a flat palm and after a few whacks, it’s blissfully quiet once again. 

“Rise and shine, baby! First day of school!” His door flies open and hits the wall as Gemma sails into the room, yanking his curtain aside and opening the blinds. Jax groans as the weak sunlight filters into his room and streaks across his bed. Throwing an arm over his face, he curses the day Rose Madock had given birth to the girl who would become Gemma Teller. 

“Ma, do I really have to go today? We don’t ever do shit on the first day, anyway.” Gemma smirks at his protest. 

“You only told me about three times last night that you needed your sleep so you could get to school this morning. Something about beauty rest, remember? Besides, don’t you wanna see what new prospective members of the Jackson Teller fan club have slithered into town over the summer?” 

“If I want a club, I’ll just head over to Club Reaper” he cuts back, causing Gemma to narrow her eyes. 

“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about you tapping those gashes your father keeps over at the clubhouse. You’re fifteen years old, Jackson-“

“-almost sixteen-“

“-and there ain’t no reason you need your dick anywhere near any of those high-traffic zones when there are plenty of girls your age at school. Not to mention, the patched members are gonna start raising hell if some kid is bogarting all the pussy. Even if that kid is the future President of SAMCRO.” Jax wrinkles his face at her in disgust. 

“Ma, the second to last last thing I wanna hear out of your mouth is the word ‘pussy’. You know, right after the word ‘dick’… especially if you’re talking about mine.” Gemma starts to respond, but he cuts her off. “And you don’t need to worry about my dick, anyway. It ain’t like that, I’m not tapping anything.” He ends any further discussion on the topic by heaving himself out of bed and yanking open a bureau drawer. Too late, he notices his morning wood tenting his boxers and quickly turns his back to his mother. Gemma snorts. 

“Yeah, okay, Jackson. Go ahead and reassure me that you’re a perfect gentleman when it comes to the fairer sex all you want, but I’m not stupid. All I’m going to say is that when, not if, you find yourself twisted up with someone, you better wrap your shit because I sure as hell ain’t ready to be a Grandma.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jax quickly dons a pair of low-slung, light washed jeans and a white Reaper Crew t-shirt, and tosses a faded blue and white plaid shirt over one shoulder. As he rakes his fingers through his tangled hair, he catches Gemma’s eye in the mirror. Jesus, why doesn’t she bring a fucking blanket and pillow and move into his room? She’s been in here almost as much as he has the past 24 hours. She stalks forward and reaches out to smooth a lock of hair, which he dodges skillfully. 

“Christ, Jackson, Floyd’s back from vacation- you gonna cut this mess any time soon?” Tucking the longer strands behind his ears, Jax returns Gemma’s gaze and answers flatly- 

“Nope.” Jax’s never really bothered to consider what he likes about his longer hair, but he hasn’t cut it since spring. It’s probably because it makes him just a little bit different from all the crew-cut, yuppie douchebags at school; he and Ope seem to have the same thoughts on that matter, though it wasn’t anything they’d ever talked about. SAMCRO is all about standing out when the time’s right. Besides, the chicks love it. Even at school, girls couldn’t seem to help themselves from absently fingering his hair as they simpered under his gaze, or aggressively running their hands through it as they attempted to flirt. He has to admit, it turns him on, even though he’s done the opposite of what Gemma’s just suggested and sworn off high school girls altogether. 

Snagging his backpack off his desk chair, where it’s been since school let out in May, Jax briefly considers its contents. The notebooks are mostly empty, since he hadn’t bothered to actually take notes last year even when he’d bothered to show up. He tosses the book he’d been assigned in 9th grade Lit- Catcher in the Rye, Christ, Holden Caulfield was a whiny asshole- onto his bed. A mass of crumpled paper- mostly notes written in colored ink from various girls and detention slips from various teachers- lands in the trash. The strip of condoms, he leaves, along with the small leather-bound notepad that had been a gift from his father a couple birthdays ago. Shit, maybe if he occupies himself with jotting down his thoughts during lunch and study hall, he’ll be able to ignore the pussy parade. Seems to work for JT. 

Jerking the zipper closed, Jax shoulders the backpack and heads toward the kitchen, Gemma trailing behind him. He’s met with a fucking smorgasbord, laid out on the kitchen table. Eyeing the muffins, fruit, toast, eggs, bacon, and god knows what else, he briefly wonders if Gemma had gone to bed at all after leaving his room last night. Softening a bit, he grabs her hand as she moves past him, ostensibly to pour him a glass of OJ from the glass pitcher on the counter. Tugging on her hand gently, he pulls her back towards him and kisses her on the cheek. 

“Thanks for breakfast, mom.” As Gemma breaks into a satisfied smile, Jax realizes that he is fucking grateful, and not just for the breakfast. Even with all the shit that’s been going on in the past year or so, even though she’s spent more time lost in her own thoughts than anything else, she’s always made sure he has what he needs. All meddling in his life aside, she’s been about as good a mom as he could have expected, given the circumstances.

Jax wolfs down two plates of food before it occurs to him to ask about his father’s whereabouts. 

“He’s already at TM, baby. Early repo, probably early church, too. But don’t think you’re getting out of that little chat with him- I already told him you’ll be stopping by after school.” Raising an eyebrow, she searches his face while he makes an effort to show none of his previous resistance to talking with his father. It must have works, because her tone lightens considerably. Ope giving you a ride?” Jax nods, his mouth full of his third blueberry muffin. “Not too much longer and you can stop acting like the proverbial Miss Daisy” Gemma teases. “I’m sure Opie’s gonna be glad to keep some miles off the truck, that shit heap’s liable to fall apart if it makes too many more trips between here and the school.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Jax glances out the window, spotting Opie’s ancient truck slowing to a stop in front of the house. “Shit, that’s Opie now. Bye Ma.” Kissing Gemma on the cheek, he grabs two more muffins for the road and heads for the front door. He slams it, cutting off Gemma’s last-minute reminder- 

“You better be at TM by four, Jackson, or I’ll b-” 

Jax bounds down the steps and makes quick time of the driveway, unwrapping his muffin before tossing his backpack into the bed of the truck. He’s about to shift Opie’s muffin to his left hand in order to reach for the door handle when it opens for him. His head jerks up to see, for the first time, that there’s already a passenger in Ope’s jalopy. And suddenly, it’s as if nothing else exists- the banter with Gemma, the truck, Opie- none of that registers as he focuses on the girl sitting in his spot. Christ, this tunnel vision shit usually only happens when a pair of lips are wrapped around his…

Even that falls away as Jax’s senses are assaulted by silky dark brown- yet, almost auburn- hair, bright green eyes, pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles. Jesus, he’d know her anywhere… but then his dick is assaulted by the fact that she also possesses what is possibly the most delectable body he’s ever seen; perched on his seat is a perfectly round ass, long, shapely legs, and the perfect, perfect rack. 

His mind is whirling as it wars with his other head; tries to make sense of the features he used to know so well because they were his best friend’s belonging on the same body as the shapely form that’s made him irrepressibly rock-hard. But the more he stares, the longer the silence stretches between them, reality comes crashing back. It’s her. The one person he’s ever felt truly understood him- even as an elementary school kid, even more so than Ope- is back. And he’s standing here like some drooling asshole, staring at her. Christ. Get a fucking grip, Teller. 

Tara, eyes never leaving his- damn, from the looks of it, she’s maybe more surprised than he is- slides across the bench seat closer to Opie, and he hears her clear voice for the first time in seven years. 

“You getting in, Jackson?”


	5. Ch 5

Jax swallows, which is way more difficult than it should be, and climbs into the truck. As Ope pulls away from the curb, he realizes that he’s been a fucking mute since the truck door opened. Wishing he’d at least grabbed his smokes out of his backpack, he prays to whatever God might be out there for something to do with his hands, somewhere to put his eyes. A glance at Tara tells him that she’s staring straight ahead, focusing on the road; a glance is all he allows himself, too, because the last thing he needs is to start staring at her again so his traitorous dick can resume its twitching. Thank God he has his plaid shirt to throw over his lap, but he’s pretty sure his face is betraying him right now anyway. He catches Opie’s gaze over Tara’s head, and he’s pretty sure that if Opie could speak freely right now, he’d be getting his ears filled, starting with “what the fuck, man?” 

What the fuck, indeed? Jax knows he can’t begin to explain, not even to himself, how seeing his best childhood friend again had him reeling in more ways than one. Jesus, what was she doing back here? Everyone in Charming knew her daddy had completely lost his shit when her mom died, and that some relative from SoCal had dragged her down there after he landed himself in the hospital. Rumor had it, he wasn’t doing any better now, so why the hell would they have shipped her back up to Charming? And why the hell was this rocking his fucking world? It’s not like he’d seen her since they were nine, when she’d left without warning, without saying goodbye. Christ, Piney had had to fill them in on what had happened, and it wasn’t like that stoic son of a bitch was particularly fond of explaining anything, even to his kid. He’d been on his way to the clubhouse and had caught Jax and Opie in Tara’s side yard, tossing pebbles at her bedroom window. They’d only resorted to that after unsuccessfully banging on her back door, sure she was there because her dad’s cherry Cutlass was parked haphazardly in the drive. 

_“Jesus Christ, you two. What the hell are you doing?” Piney heaved himself off his bike and stalked up the driveway, yanking his helmet off his head._

_“Tara didn’t answer the door, Pop, we’re supposed to ride down to the middle school today. Kyle bet us last week we were too chicken to jump the ramp in the back next to the cafeteria receiving doors. And…” Harry exchanged an uneasy look with Jackson before trailing off._

_“She didn’t come out at all yesterday, Piney. I know her dad’s been… well… and nobody answered the door. But we know he’s here, his car is here. And Tara’s been all holed up in there since he got out of the hospital.” Jackson explained. “We’re-“_

_“We’re worried about her, Pop. All those times she stayed on our couch, she just seemed… scared or somethin'. What if he’s, I don’t know, like hitting her or something?” Harry finished, noting the cloud that seemed to have crossed Piney’s face at their admission. “Anyway, she needs to get outside, or… or… I dunno.”_

_Piney scrutinized the two boys, chose his words carefully before speaking._

_“Boys… Tara’s old man has been pretty sad since her mom died, you know that. Well, after he was in the hospital these last few days, Tara’s great aunt- and I, well, we figured she’d be better off if she went down to San Diego for a little while, be with family. Probably a few months- maybe by the time school‘s ready to start up again in the fall, she’ll be back. Until then, you two stay away from here.” Piney fixed them with a warning glare, and Jackson was at once sure that their suspicions about what had been going on in that house were on the right track. “Rick’s in no condition to be dealing with anyone right now, especially kids. You just stay the hell off this property ‘til I say it’s OK. Jane’ll let me know when Tara comes back and ya can get back to bein’ the goddamn Three Musketeers again.”_

_Piney cracked a rare smile at them before he shuffled back to his bike, but when he stopped to settle his helmet on his head, his face was inscrutable once again._

_“That girl’s been through a lot of shit the past year or so. I know the two a’ ya were there for her, so I know you’ll listen when I tell ya that the best thing you can do for her right now is to stay away from here. Her daddy’s gotta figure his own shit out so she can come back. Can you two shitheads manage that?”_

_Both Jackson and Harry nodded solemnly. Jeez, Jackson thought to himself, that was more than Harry’s old man had ever said in one sitting- at least to him. As Piney fired up his bike and rumbled away while the two boys were left to pick up their bikes and walk them in the general direction of the middle school, Jackson couldn’t help but feel like everything was simply, absolutely, freaking wrong. Sure, Harry was his best friend, and had been ever since they’d both been toddlers, racing trucks around the wooden floor of Club Reaper. But something about Tara being suddenly absent sent a rush of emptiness into Jackson’s insides._

_Who would call Kyle and that scrawny prick David Hale out on their challenges, force them to put up or shut up after Harry and Jackson had one-upped them? Things would have frequently come to blows had it not been for Tara’s way of inserting herself in their dares- the natural-born smartass in her negotiating the boys’ various penalties or even making challenges of her own. Who would expertly calculate the ideal amount of speed to build up before hitting a ramp, or the distance needed to execute the perfect sliding stop without tilting over? Who would call out over a shoulder and spur them on, breathlessly laughing as she left them in the dust race after race? Who would think to pack a picnic before riding across town to the drive-in, or make sure they all made it home by nine, courtesy of a purple plastic wristwatch?_

_Most importantly, who would stop him with a hand on his arm when some idiot spouted off about the Sons or his dad being locked up? Harry could talk his ear off about being smart, about waiting to kick ass until after school when there were no adults around, but something about Tara immediately calmed him. Jeez, she didn’t even have to say anything half the time- just a touch of her cool hand sent all his white-hot rage receding into the background, cleared his vision. She was also the only one he dared to talk about his dad with; the subject of JT being locked up in county never failed to bring a lump to his throat or tears to his eyes, and there was no way he was acting like a pussy in front of Harry or anyone else. He’d wait until they dropped Harry off and were walking the extra half a block to her house before all the pent-up thoughts would tumble out in a rush. He’d tell her about the letter JT had sent, or how he’d been extra grumpy during visitation the past weekend, or how he’d been in a fight in jail and had had some extra time tacked onto his bid. She just listened intently, nodded, always seemed to know what to say; and always, always, they’d end those conversations with a hug-Tara pulling him against her body, the familiar bony-yet-soft feel of her somehow fortifying him against yet another day of being the man of the house._

_Jeez, what was he going to do now? Hug Harry? The thought was laughable, so much so that Jackson snorted._

_“What?” Harry narrowed his eyes at him, an eyebrow raised._

_“Nothin’, man, let’s just go show those idiots who they’re dealing with.” Jackson could tell Harry wasn’t buying his forced casual tone, but chose to say nothing. And later that day, after Harry ditched his bike in his driveway to head inside and Jackson made the trek down the street- passing in front of Tara’s alone this time- he finally paused. Allowed himself to miss his best friend. Started counting the days of spring and summer that stretched out before him, until the Three Musketeers were back together again._

Of course, Jax thinks to himself, the Three Musketeers never had gotten back together. Forget a few months, Tara had been gone years. Seven years. And in all that time, she’d never thought to call, never been back up to Charming, even to visit her old man? Christ, JT had gotten out of County and had even done a bid in Stockton since she’d left…he narrows his eyes and tamps down the irritation bubbling in his chest. God, he really is an asshole- it isn’t her fault her mom died, or that her dad’s a piece of shit that couldn’t care for her. Stealing another glance at her, he watches as she and Opie chat quietly about shit he’s not privy to, sitting over in the passenger seat, lost in his own thoughts. She laughs at something Ope says, lightly backhanding him on the arm, and Jax is- shocked? ashamed? - when jealousy and anger wash over him. They’re sitting pretty fucking close over there, and it looks like Tara’s being careful to avoid looking at him, let alone touching him. Shifting his gaze to his hands, he notices that they’re twisting the shirt in his lap, smoothing it, twisting it again- over and over. Worse yet, they’ve got to be almost to school and he still hasn’t had shit to say to her or Ope. Not even a “hey, Tara” let alone “glad you’re back, how’ve you been”. Willing himself to let go of the shirt, he closes his eyes for several, steadying moments which stretch into minutes. _Jesus Christ, Teller, get it toge-_

His thoughts are stopped in their tracks by the strangely familiar-yet-foreign feel of her hand on his arm; familiar because she’s always had a way of calming him in exactly this way- he can feel the anger and jealousy start to drain away. Christ, he thinks to himself for at least the third time since Opie pulled up in front of his house, what an asshole I am. What’s foreign to him, though, is that her soft, cool hand is simultaneously soothing his ire and producing what he can only describe as fucking sparks- prickling their way up his arm, away from the epicenter of her touch and straight into his goddamn heart. What. The. Hell. 

“Jackson? We’re here. Are you okay?” Jax’s eyes fly open and catch her gaze, her bright green eyes filled with concern and something else he can’t define. Shit, he hadn’t even felt the truck stop. He forces the signature Jax Teller smirk onto his lips, praying his eyes match it instead of betraying the degree to which she’s utterly blown him away, just by showing up in Ope’s truck and touching his goddamn arm. Gently pulling himself away from her hand, he wrenches the door open and steps sideways onto the asphalt.

“More than okay, darlin’” he drawls in what he hopes is a voice that exudes casual confidence, offering Tara his left hand. She takes it and hops lightly out of the pickup after him so he can hip-check the door and snatch his backpack from the truck bed. Once she’s standing before him, her hand still resting in his, he’s hit full-force with just how good time has been to her. Her hair’s longer, impossibly thick and silky, and Jax clenches his right hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out and touching it. She’s not flaunting herself like so many of the girls at school- her cutoffs are fairly modest by his standards- but he can’t help but notice how ridiculously long her legs look in them. Her plaid shirt, too, is tied at her midsection instead of just below the chest, revealing an alluring strip of smooth skin instead of producing what he and Ope have come to call the ‘Daisy Mae look’, designed to show as much skin as possible. As he draws his eyes upward, he notes the soft swell of her breasts perfectly outlined by her shirt, her stubborn chin, her plump lips- Christ, he can’t afford to linger on those too long- and finally, the part of her that’s the most familiar to him. Deep-set, sparkling green eyes that held so much understanding and compassion as a kid are now looking intently back at him with… what, exactly? Warmth, he decides. Which means she hadn’t noticed him practically eye-fucking her once again, thank God. His utter gratitude is nearly his undoing- almost without thinking, he draws her hand towards his lips, kissing her knuckles. Shit. Friends don’t do that, for fuck’s sake. Without missing a beat, he slaps the smirk on his face once again, bows deeply, and raises a hand in the general direction of the school. “Your high school, m’lady.” 

Tara rolls her eyes good-naturedly and steps back against the truck, raising a foot to press against the passenger door. Opie sidles around the back end of the truck and next to them, shooting Jax another “what the hell” look over Tara’s head while he fishes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He offers one to Tara, who declines with a slight shake of her head, and Jax, who gratefully takes one and lights it with the Zippo that’s always in his pocket. As the smoke fills his lungs, the three of them lean against the side of the truck and take in the brick façade of Charming High. Students are already streaming through the double doors, and Tara sighs, audibly, as Jax flicks ashes from his cigarette, her right arm brushing against his left. As prickles once again work their way through his body, he wonders what’s going through her mind, if she feels this too, if she’s nervous about entering CHS. She’s never been a student here, probably has nobody in town besides himself and Ope; besides the two of them, the rest of her friends had been little more than ‘the rest of the pack’- boys to challenge, tease, and dismiss when he, Ope or Tara herself had bested them in whatever the game might be. He sure as shit couldn’t remember seeing Tara buddying up with any of the girls in their class back then. Resolving to get over whatever-the-hell-this-is that happens whenever she touches him- for both their sakes- he turns his head, still resting against the truck window, towards her. 

“I got English first period. You?” Tara seems relieved he’s found his voice, and he forces himself to don the smirk yet again, desperate to return things to normal- whatever the fuck that is. She returns his smile, and he tries not to dwell on the fact that a smile definitely pushes her over the line from pretty to drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous. 

“Me too, Mrs. Castor, I think.” She turns to Opie. “You?” 

“Same. At least it isn’t the same chick we had last year.” He tosses a grin at Jax. “Phillips hated Jax, mostly ‘cause he never showed up on time. Said he was ‘wasting his potential-” Ope used air quotes here “-and that she didn’t give a goddamn how good a writer he was ‘cause it didn’t matter when he never showed up on time to finish anything. I think that bitch gave him more detentions than all the other teachers combined.” Jax shrugs, smirk still in place. 

“Hey, I can’t help it if I get distracted on my way in to school in the morning” he says, dropping his cigarette butt and grinding it out beneath a pristine white sneaker. He ventures a glance at Tara, who is looking at him quizzically. Time to intensify the charm: “It isn’t my fault the ladies of Charming High find me irresistible.” At this, Tara only rolls her eyes and adjusts her backpack. 

“Should we go in?” She sounds nervous, Jax thinks, but with he and Ope by her side, she’ll be fine. And from somewhere within, he feels the familiar urge to protect her rising to the surface; never mind that she could hold her own then and probably can now. After that shit with her dad, he’s not going to let someone give her another reason to take off.

“Yep,” Opie replies. “Besides, here comes the Pussy Patrol. We better beat it before Jax gets distracted and doesn’t make it to English.” Sure enough, as Jax follows Opie’s gaze across the back of the parking lot, he glimpses Jenny Hale, Melissa Rourke, and the rest of the cheer squad. Yep, definitely time to go. Not that he doesn’t enjoy the sheer amount of attention and flirtatious touches most of those girls are willing to lay on him but he knows they’re nothing compared to the insanely hot croweaters back at the clubhouse and only marginally more intelligent. High risk of bullshit, low reward- since he figures the percentage of them who’ll be willing to give him a quick blow job is relatively low. Since that’s all he’s really up for, no sense in dealing with all the bullshit for no return. Besides, he has enough to worry about, what with the effort he’s having to put forth just to function like a fucking human being around Tara while dodging Opie’s questioning looks. 

“Come on,“ Jax says, and snakes an arm around Tara, safely resting his hand in the center of her backpack, away from any of her dangerously silky-smooth skin. “We got this.” Opie nods and, together, they set off across the parking lot and into Charming High.


	6. Ch 6

It isn’t until they’re actually sitting in the back of 1st period English that Opie finally says out loud what Jax’s been reading on his face all morning.

“The fuck’s up with you, bro? You’ve been acting weird ever since we picked you up.” Opie hisses in his ear. Ope is in the seat behind him and tall enough to lean almost all the way over his desk; with Jax slouched in his usual I’m-only-here-because-I-have-to-be pose, their heads are close enough to carry on conversation without Tara or anyone else overhearing. Not that she’d notice anyway- she’s got her full attention on Castor, who’s droning on about what they’ll learn this year or some shit. Christ, she’s even taking notes, Jax observes with a small smile; Tara had always been the brains of the group and it looks like that isn’t changing any time soon. “Jax!”

“What?” is all he can muster for a response. He searches for something, _anything_ else to say until he’s distracted by the sight of the cascade of silky, dark hair in front of him suddenly swaying to the left as Tara’s face comes into view. She hands him the papers Castor’s evidently instructed them to pass back in the row, appearing to be hesitant to turn back to the front now that she’s looked Jax over. Unsure of what, exactly, is on his face at the moment, he says the only thing that comes to mind- “thanks” and grins at her. Returning his smile with one of her own, he has a few ticks to bask in the warmth of it before she turns her head back to the front. He’s sitting there, letting the scent of her hair drift back to him- assuredly sweet, but not cloying- when he feels a pencil poke him in the shoulder. God dammit.  
  
“Hey, asshole, you planning to pass me one or not?” Without turning around, Jax practically flings the last sheet of paper over his shoulder. “Jesus, man, what crawled up your ass and died? And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’ve known you too long for you to try and bullshit me. Something happen with your old man?”  
  
Jax winced. He hadn’t known whether Opie was aware JT had returned from Belfast yesterday. If only that were his only problem… but if there’s anything he wants to talk about even less than whatever the fuck it that happens to his heart whenever Tara breathes his way, it’s his father. Before he’s forced to answer, though, Castor starts passing out textbooks and Opie has to ease back in his chair. Jax breathes a sigh of relief and gratefully pushes Tara, JT, and Opie to the back of his mind in favor of doodling on his notebook from last year.

Fortunately for Jax, second and third periods are both industrial arts classes he and Opie had lined up to take together at the end of last year. Unfortunately for Jax, Ope seems to want to talk about the morning’s events and since the first day of shop class always involves Mr. Kramer walking the students who were new to the shop through the safety procedures, they’re left with far too much goddamn time to talk. They’ve been sitting in the classroom adjoining the shop for a few minutes, watching Kramer demonstrate the proper placement of safety glasses to a bunch of freshmen through the yellowing Plexiglas window, when Opie finally seems to reach his breaking point.  
  
“Alright. So… What. The fuck. Is up?” Jax sighs, knowing Ope isn’t going to ease up until he says _something_.  
  
“I dunno, man, it’s just been a weird fucking morning. You show up at my house and Tara’s fucking sitting there like nothing ever happened... I guess I’m just a little, uh… surprised.” He shrugs, a gesture that doesn’t seem to placate his friend.  
  
“All this shit is about _Tara_? I thought you were looking at her weird, but I figured it was just you fucking pouting about something or other JT did this morning.”  
  
“Naw,” Jax sighed. “Dad’s been in and out of Belfast for a while now. He showed up last night, wanting to talk about my birthday and shit, but I guess all that’ll blow over soon as I talk to him. It’s nothing. But I was just not expecting Tara to be there this morning, and I guess I clammed up or something. I dunno.” OK. Good. That sounded casual.

“Shit, man, it surprised me too. I had just pulled out of my driveway and there she was, ‘bout a block away from her house. I don’t know how I knew it was her from the back, but I _knew_.” Jax eyes Opie suspiciously, suddenly unable to stop himself from asking the question he hadn’t even allowed himself to think of until just now.  
  
“Did you know she was back in town before this morning?” Opie’s head snapped up, instantly on the defensive.

 “No way, bro. I barely even look at her place any more when I drive by, but there she was on the sidewalk, and I couldn’t just let her walk all the damn way to school. I don’t even know how long she’s been in town, but if I’d known I’d definitely have told ya.” His face softened. “Sorry I just sprung her on you like that, I guess it _was_ probably a shock… just thought you’d be happy to see her back here.” Jax releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.  
  
“It’s not that, man, I’m glad she’s here, I’m glad she’s okay…all of that. It’s just-“ he has to think of how to word this without sounding like a complete asshole, he’s just not sure that’s possible. “I dunno. She was in SoCal for _seven years._ And in all that time, she couldn’t pick up a phone? She never came up to visit her old man? It’s almost like she was happier leaving us behind.” Opie’s face turns from one of understanding to one of mild disgust.  
  
“Christ, could you sound much more like a 12-year-old girl” he scoffs, glaring. “All that shit that went down back then, all the shit Piney told us when he practically _ordered_ us to stay away, you don’t think her aunt probably told her the same thing? You don’t think it was hard as fuck for her to move away from her old man, her school, and start over in SoCal? Don’t make this shit about you, about what a 9-year-old _girl_ should have said or done to make _you_ feel better during the worst fucking time in her life.” Guiltily, Jax nods- Ope isn’t telling him anything he hasn’t already considered at least twice since he got in the truck this morning.

“She tell you all that?”  
  
“Naw, man, we only had the ten-minute ride over to your house. But it’s common sense, ain’t it? How would _you_ have reacted to the same shit?” Jax knows, first and foremost, that this mess wouldn’t have happened to him- if Gemma believes in one thing, its keeping family close. But he does have to admit that had he been suddenly uprooted and moved to some goddamn place away from his family and the club, he’d have probably lost his fucking mind.  
  
“I know, bro, trust me. And the _other_ thing I know is that we have to make sure she knows we’re still her friends.” Jax pauses a moment to laugh at himself- exhaling a sharp, cynical huff of air- before continuing. “Now I sound even _more_ like a 12-year-old girl.” Opie softens again, smiles along with him while nodding his head in agreement.  
  
“Yeah ya do. But I’m glad to hear it brother. When I saw your face this morning, I thought maybe I’d have to kick your ass. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Stiffening, Jax shoots a quizzical look at Opie. Shit. Had he noticed the thorough eye-fucking he hadn’t been able to help when faced, unexpectedly, with the older, hotter, version of Tara? “You looked pissed off, “ Opie continues, apparently realizing he’s going to have to dumb things down for Jax, who’s about at his heart-to-heart limit for the day. “I wasn’t sure what your irritable ass was going to do or say, you’ve been in a shitty mood for weeks. Months. All I knew is that if you were gonna be a dick about this whole thing, make it all about some abandonment-issue temper tantrum, I might have to kick your ass. She doesn’t deserve that.” Relieved, Jax considers that, though Opie had noticed something was up, he at least doesn’t seem to be aware of the complete clusterfuck his mind and senses have been in since Tara showed up this morning. So he won’t have to get his ass kicked for unwillingly lusting after his- and Opie’s-childhood best friend. At least, not today.

* * *

Fourth period brings 10th Grade Biology- a required class Jax is pretty sure is shaping up to be his least favorite subject since the labs require extensive notes he’s never been willing to take, and memorization of a bunch of shit he’s positive won’t matter once he’s sitting at the head of the Reaper table. Since the lab is at the opposite end of the school as the shop, he and Ope barely slide into the door before the tardy bell rings and Tara’s already seated at one of the front tables. That doesn’t surprise him- what _does_ is the sight of that prick David Hale seated next to her. The same anger and jealousy that had appeared in the truck this morning washes over him again as he watches Hale lean in to whisper something to her and Tara slide a pencil across the table to him in response. Shit, she’s even _smiling_ at that douchebag; even worse, Jax is finding out the hard way that her smile still affects him even when it isn’t directed at him.

Hale had never really been part of their group; back in elementary, they’d been forced to interact some and Tara had always been nice to him- shit, she was nice to everyone. But as the years had gone on and David’s father had worked his way up the ladder from lawyer to County Attorney to judge, it had become clear that Hale was just as big of a rich asshole as his old man. The final straw had been JT, Clay, and Bobby getting locked up in Stockton a few years back. Hale, Sr. had been the judge in that case and, rumor had it, he’d thrown the book at them. While Jax doesn’t know many of the specifics, he knows that if one thing’s certain, its that the Hales and the SAMCRO family fell on decidedly opposite sides of the law. He’s broken from his thoughts by Opie nudging him and inclining his head toward Tara and Hale, who seem to be sitting in comfortable silence, listening intently to whatever Mr. Collier’s saying.  
  
“Lab partners tomorrow. I hope Tara doesn’t wind up with that dipshit all year.” Jax nods- at least he and Ope are on the same page with one thing today.   
  
“She won’t. We’ll cut out of shop a little early, get Hale to back the fuck off.”  
  
“Aight. She doesn’t need to deal with his shit, especially since his asshole father is the one that made an example out of her old man, you know?” Jax’s face is pretty solid evidence that no, he didn’t know, so Opie continues. “Last year, I guess her old man got hemmed up for operating that Hollis Farms rig he drives- you know, for Charming Market- loaded out of his mind. It was his first offense, but Piney said Hale made sure he did some time for it, gave him the maximum fine, the whole nine yards. I guess it’s a miracle he even still _has_ his job. Sure as shit, if he didn’t, Tara wouldn’t be up here, now.”  
  
Jax isn’t sure who pisses him off more, at this point- Rick Knowles, for being absolutely stupid enough to drive a fucking big rig while drunk, or Jacob Hale, Sr., first for being a class-A prick, but mostly for almost costing him the chance to have his best friend back. Shit, Tara could have wound up in the system if she hadn’t come back here- he’s pretty sure he remembers her great aunt or whoever being her last living family member. If the aunt couldn’t care for her now, if her father was drunk, jobless, or homeless, he hates to think of what would have happened to Tara- he’s heard stories about foster care. He’s still contemplating this as the bell rings and as he’s stuffing his new Biology textbook into his backpack he feels Tara’s hand on his shoulder. Shit, it isn’t getting any easier to ignore the pure pleasure he feels as her touch once again incites a tingling sensation that quickly spreads throughout his body. Grinning up at her, she responds with one of her own.

 “Lunch?”

_Fuck yes._

* * *

Lunch in the CHS cafeteria is a hectic affair, with a few hundred kids simultaneously tying to do the same thing, go the same place. Jax and Opie have long since made the decision to skip the bullshit and eat under the trees between the football field and the parking lot. Today, though, neither of them brought a lunch- probably because they originally planned on cutting out early- and when it’s clear Tara had neither been able to find anything for lunch in her father’s bare kitchen or been able to enroll herself in the cafeteria program without an adult, they settle on reclining against a tree and sharing a couple Snickers Opie unearths from his glove compartment. After the Snickers are gone, he also produces a joint, and Tara surprises both boys by taking an expert drag. Fanning the smoke away from herself and exhaling, she appears to fight off a smirk before announcing that she’s been in San Diego, not a nunnery.

They spend the remainder of the lunch hour passing around the joint and sitting in contented silence. Jax wants to ask her about San Diego, wants desperately to fill in the 7-year-long blank in her history, but the weed does its job and he can’t bring himself to disrupt the calm that’s settled over the three of them. While he’s practically dying for her to touch him again, at the same time, he’s relieved she doesn’t. He’s also both relieved and annoyed that most of her afternoon schedule looks to be AP classes he wouldn’t be allowed into if he begged. Feigning casual ignorance of the mindfuck she’s giving him without even trying is getting exhausting.

The afternoon goes more slowly than he could have expected; by last period, he’s checked the clock too many times to count. Finally, fucking _finally_ , the last bell rings and students stream into the hallways as Jax saunters towards his locker. Fuckin’ geometry during 8th period without either Tara or Opie had cemented his decision to cut out early from now on. If there was more mind-numbing shit than the Pythagorean theorem, he wasn’t sure what it was. In fact, the entire afternoon had been a fucking joke. Only one glimpse of Tara, in Foods class, no less. The boys had taken it for an easy grade and afternoon snacks- Tara had taken it because, as she explained, she’s likely going to have to cook for both herself and her father most nights. The thought fills Jax with disgust at what an entire piece of shit Rick Knowles has turned out to be.  In any case, Foods has potential to be a good time, but they’d merely stood around today as Miss Wimmer inventoried supplies. As a whole, it’s looking like his sentiments on her solid AP schedule rest firmly in the “annoyed” camp. Jax’s mood darkens; its beginning to look like close proximity to Tara turns him into a flustered pussy at best and a drooling asshole at worst, while being apart from her leads to near-obsession; thoughts about her whereabouts, when he might see her again, what she’s thinking, what _Opie’s_ thinking… Christ. He needs a beer, the other joint he knows is somewhere in Ope’s truck, and a blow job, not necessarily in that order.

  
And it’s only the first day.


	7. Ch 7

 

As if the universe wants nothing more than to prove, once again, that he’s an asshole, Jax rounds the corner towards his locker only to see Tara and Opie leaning up against it, his arm thrown casually over her shoulder. If watching Hale and Tara share a pencil during Biology had made him angry, what he’s experiencing now is nothing short of white-hot rage. He grits his teeth as he approaches. Fuck. It’s no good for either of those two to get even an inkling of the rage coursing through his veins, and he’s not going to be the prick who fights his best friend over his _other_ best friend, especially when none of them- least of all Jax himself- knows what the fuck it is that’s between them. For all he knows, this day-long obsession is completely one-sided, and if history is any indicator, his attention on this girl won’t last too long. He shakes off the nagging thought that this is new territory for him, that whatever-this-is, is completely foreign- unprecedented, even- and reassures himself that it’s eventually going to fizzle out. Fuck, it better.  Besides, he reasons, Opie and Tara are just friends. She’s been back in their lives less than a day, and Opie knows better than to try and go _there_. Consciously pushing aside the fact that the same should be true of _him_ , Jax forces a smile onto his lips and stops in front of his locker.   
  
“What’s up?” Shit, that sounded tense. Opie straightens, dropping his arm to his side, much to Jax’s relief.   
  
“We just thought we’d wait for you to take off-“ _Shit, they’re a_ we _now?_ “figured we could all ride together again.” Jax nods, briefly, and notes the look that passes between his two best friends. Though his rage has ratcheted itself down to a simmering annoyance, he’s not in the mood to analyze even one more fucking look from either Opie or Tara. Fuck it.

“Let’s go, then. I gotta get to TM before four.” He heads towards the exit and out the doors, hoping that Ope and Tara are following. Christ, it’s a relief to get outside. His relief is short-lived, however, as he spots Melissa Rourke draped across Opie’s passenger door. Knowing it would be too much to hope that she’s here for Ope, he slows a bit. Jesus. While it’s true that he’d given up high school chicks and that as a group, the Pussy Parade was an irritating, if not overwhelming, distraction- he had to admit that one-on-one attention wasn’t completely unwelcome. Having a girl fawn all over him was usually at least an ego boost, if not a turn-on. Yesterday, he’d have reveled in the thought of Melissa, hands down the hottest blonde in school, waiting around for him. Shit, he’s an almost sixteen-year-old, red blooded American male. But today… after spending so much time working shit through in his head, he’s just ready to be done thinking, done worrying about what someone else thinks. And the _last_ thing he needs to start worrying about is what Tara thinks about Melissa Rourke.   
  
“Hey, Jax” Melissa purrs in what he’s sure is supposed to be her sexiest voice, lightly stroking his arm. Notably absent is the spark, the tingle. Thank God.    
  
“Hey, darlin’.” Jax tosses his backpack into the bed of the truck and faces her. Jesus Christ, Ope needs to hurry the fuck up with the keys. He’s regretting stalking off without them tenfold, now. ”Listen, Ope and I, we need to get to the clubhouse right away. Club shit.” He tries his best to look hurried, though he’s not that worried about whether or not she’s buying it.    
  
“That’s alright, I just need a moment.” Melissa chooses that moment to reach up and play her fingers in his hair, pushing a lock away from his forehead. Opie and Tara choose that moment to appear at his side. Great.

“Aight, darlin, what it is?” Jax asks, exasperated. Clearly, this day is never meant to end.

“Well, you know the cheerleading squad?” Jax has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes- no shit he knows the cheerleading squad. Christ.  “We’re having a party on Friday. Sort of a kickoff to the school year. It just wouldn’t be a party without _you_ there.” Her hand leaves Jax’s hair and trails down his cheek on the way. She turns her attention to Opie briefly, tossing him a smirk before sliding her eyes sideways to Tara, who’s standing silently, her big green eyes inscrutable but focused on Jax. Melissa continues. “If you wanna come, too, Opie, that’d be great. Just leave your new _plaything_ at home.” Both Opie and Tara shift at this, but remain stoic as the dismissal in Melissa’s tone all but echoes across the parking lot. Jax grits his teeth as she raises on her tiptoes until her lips are a breath away from his own. “I’ll see you Friday night,” she breathes against his lips. Shifting just a bit, her lips meet his own and he can’t help the sharp intake of breath that accompanies the sheer shock and displeasure he feels when it happens. God dammit, he doesn’t do lips; a talk with half her cheer squad would have informed her of that. Melissa evidently takes this as a show of enthusiasm, however, because her tongue darts out to touch the seam of his lips before she’s gone, swaying her hips as she heads towards the rest of the Pussy Patrol, gathered around Stacey’s new red Mustang.   
  
Jax sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. What’s really crazy about this shit is that one of the hottest chicks in school can do, well… _that_ and he feels nothing- maybe even borderline revulsion- but a simple smile or a touch on the arm from Tara has his every nerve firing. Shit, _Tara_. She’s still standing there, looking at him, though he guesses her eyes are a little wider than they were before Melissa had practically licked his face. He isn’t even sure why he cares what her reaction to all this is, but the bottom line is, he does. Suddenly, he realizes Ope is chuckling and Tara shakes her head.   
  
“Jesus, no wonder you get _distracted_ on your way in to school. Are all the girls that hung up on you, Jackson?” Her eyes flash and Jax is unsure what to make of it.   
  
“That’s the understatement of the century” Opie scoffs, drawing a glare from Jax. “The _Prince_ here has to fight off more girls on a daily basis than the rest of us see in a month.”   
  
“Shut the fuck up, Ope.” Jax returns savagely. Opie chuckles and heads around the back end of the truck while Jax opens the passenger door for Tara. She makes no move to get in the truck, frowning at him as if trying to work out some equation.   
  
“The Prince?” Jesus, he hates that shit.   
  
“It’s a stupid nickname a few of the guys came up with. I’m supposed to run SAMCRO some day, my dad runs it now. So if he’s the King, I guess I’m the Prince. Plus, it sounds extra fucking stupid when they say ‘the Prince of Charming’. Come on, get in and you can come with us to TM, listen to them rag on me all you want.” Opie shoots him a look from across the seat at this. “I thought maybe Piney’d like to see Tara,” Jax explains, “and I got that meet up with JT. Figured you could introduce her to some of the new guys that weren’t around when she left.” He turns his attention to Tara- “Unless you have somewhere else to be.” She reddens, and climbs into the truck, Jax immediately behind her.   
  
“No. My dad won’t be home from work until late. Well, _if_ he comes home. He doesn’t always.” Her voice is steady and Jax is tempted to press for details, but her face quickly shutters, her once open green eyes brooking no more questions on the matter. Opie catches his eye over Tara’s head and he slightly shakes his head. Okay.

As they pull into the TM lot, the sheer novelty of having Tara nearby washes over Jax all over again. Shit, he almost feels like he’s bringing his girl home to meet his parents- which, he supposes, is sort of true. The difference is, most everyone here has already met her and- perhaps most importantly- she’s not _his_ girl. Brushing off whatever that revelation makes him feel, the three of them head towards the clubhouse where a few of the guys are gathered at the picnic tables.   
  
“Ayyyy, Opie! Jackie Boy!” Chibs nods towards them as they approach. “Who’s the lovely lass?” He appraises Tara with an approving nod and as genuine a smile as his scarred cheeks can muster.   
  
“You remember Tara, don’t you, Chibs? I think you’d just patched in the last time she was here.”   
  
“Remember, Jax’s birthday party? The one with the bike ramps?” Opie supplies. Gemma had gone all out and had several ramps set up in the lot, and Opie, Tara, several boys from school, and half the club had spent the day riding to their hearts’ content. Jax snickers at the memory of Bobby on a BMX bike.   
  
“Ahh, that’s right. Shite, little girl, ye had all of them boys tryin’ to impress ye on them wee bikes. Too bad Kozik’s scrawny arse wasn’t here to show ‘em how its done.” Tara smiles indulgently and turns her attention to Kozik, who rises and takes her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. Tara blushes while Jax cringes, and from the looks of Chibs, he ‘s not missed the look on Jax’s face- all doubt’s removed as he cuffs Jax on the back of the head to draw him in with an elbow around the neck.   
  
“Sett-le down, boyo. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Chibs murmurs, low, in Jax’s ear. Disentangling himself, unwilling to lend any credence to what Chibs has just said, Jax looks on as Opie introduces the third Son sitting at the table. It’s probably best Ope had introduced the other Prospect, because Jax isn’t sure how he feels about Tig. Where all the other members are comfortable joking around with Jax, even if the joking sometimes turns into out and out roasting, Tig’s difficult to read at best, surly at worst.   
  
“C’mon.” Throwing an arm over Tara’s shoulder- if Opie can do it, so can he-  they head into the darkened clubhouse to find JT. Pointing out the new pool table, the tap system that’s been recently installed behind the bar, and the full kitchen that’s been added behind that, Jax and Opie lead Tara on a semi-tour as they wait for JT to make an appearance. Tara’s quiet, but appreciative of the new and improved clubhouse, and Jax thinks yet again at how right it feels for her to be here with them again. They approach the Chapel and Jax slows to a halt outside the doors, which are cracked open a bit. He knocks tentatively, struck again by how much he’s really dreading this conversation, which he guesses is pretty fucked up. It’s a conversation with his dad, about his birthday, for Christ’s sake. Still, it isn’t as if they’d talked- at least not _really_ talked- since Tommy, and the thought of faking his way through his birthday, the Harley, the shit that goes with it, just seems…fucking _daunting_.   
  
“Yeah?” JT’s voice rings out from inside the Chapel, and Jax pushes the door open slowly, dropping his arm from Tara’s shoulder. His father’s sitting at the head of the Reaper Table, an ashtray full of cigarette butts evidence he’s been in here for a while.

“Ma said I should come talk to you, set up my birthday?” If there’s anything Jax is sure of right now, its that they’re getting right down to business so this shit can be over.   
  
“Alright, son, go ahead and come on in, sit down. How ya doin’ Opie?” JT inclines his chin at Opie.   
  
“I’m aight JT. First day of school, ‘sabout it.” JT smiles, stubbing out the cigarette he’s holding.   
  
“Jesus, spoken like a true scholar.” He chuckles. “But you boys make sure you keep showing up, get your work done. If there’s one thing nobody can take away from you, its brains. Brains over bullets, don’t you ever forget that.” He turns his attention to Tara, who is standing slightly behind Opie, evidently a little nervous. Suddenly, Jax is nervous, too, but he isn’t sure why. “Afternoon, Tara. Piney said you were back.” Shit. Had _JT_ known Tara was back and kept it from him? As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he realizes it isn’t fair, since he effectively shut out any semblance of conversation JT may have tried to have with him last night. “it’s good to see you around here again. Maybe you can help keep these two chuckleheads from screwin’ around and breakin’ more bones. I know Gemma’d appreciate it.” JT gives Tara as genuine a smile as Jax has seen from him in a long time. Interesting. Tara beams back at him.   
  
“Thanks, Mr. Teller” her clear voice echoes in the Chapel as JT waves off the formality. “I’ll do my best.”   
  
“Opie, why don’t you take Tara and find your Pops? He’s out in one of the bays giving Lowell hell, most likely.” Jax nods at Opie and Tara, a little disappointed he won’t have them to act as a buffer, a little relieved Tara won’t be subjected to the tense conversation that’s come to embody his relationship with his father. As they head off in search of Piney, Jax crosses the room to the desk chair just behind JT and pulls it out.   
  
“No, son. Sit at the table.” Holy shit. Shocked, Jax takes a tentative step towards the Reaper table, unsure where, exactly, he’s supposed to sit. Everyone knows non-members don’t sit at the table, but he’s not about to argue with JT on this. “Sit there.” JT nods toward the seat at his left- Piney’s seat. Holy. Shit. Jax exhales in an attempt to calm his nerves, which ratcheted up at his father’s request, and lowers himself into the VP seat. Folding his hands expectantly on the table, Jax eyes his father, silently. JT seems to be waiting for him to speak, first, but there’s no way Jax is going to be the one to initiate this conversation. No way. It’s JT’s fault he’s been absent- both physically and otherwise- and he’s going to be the one to fucking bring it up. With a heavy sigh, JT begins to speak.

“Someday, you’ll sit at this table, Jackson. Eventually, in that chair you’re sitting in right now. I hope to be here when that happens.” Christ, why _wouldn’t_ JT be here? Jax’s prospecting in two years, maybe one if he can convince the guys to buck tradition; he’ll probably be VP a few years after that. He smiles a bit- he and JT at the head two spots at the table. “That’s why this shit between us- this… distance- well, I know it’s my fault. But we gotta work this shit through, son.” Jax remains silent. Is this where JT’s going to explain why the fuck Belfast is so much more important than his family? “I’ve been gone just as much as I’ve been here, I know, but I feel like Belfast is in a decent place, now. McGee and the guys over there are solid. That’s a good thing. But this last trip, well… I got to thinking about some shit, son. SAMBEL needed me, but my family here needed me more. The Sons, your mother, you, Thomas…” Jax watches as a flash of pain shoots through his father’s face. He’s experienced the same crippling flashes himself over the past year, understands when his father takes a few moments before continuing. “Thomas’ death- it hurt, son. I think I was glad when this shit with Belfast came up because bein’ here was hard.”

Christ, that’s hard to hear- he’s hard to be around? JT seems to read his facial expression immediately, because he says, hurriedly, “No, son, being around you and your mom wasn’t hard for me. But Thomas’ empty room, his spot at the kitchen table, his bike in the garage… all that, well… I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime, lost some brothers in ‘Nam, lost some Brothers here. But nothin’ got me through the day after Thomas except the Jameson. After I couldn’t even manage that anymore the only thing I had was thinkin’ about the Club, puttin’ one foot in front of the other. Gettin’ through that day, then the next, then the next, staying alive because SAMCRO, you, and your mom needed me. And all of a sudden, here I am, gettin’ close to the other side of it. I’ll love my baby boy until the day I leave this world, but I ain’t crippled by it anymore. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say, mostly, is that _I’m_ close to the other side of this mess, but I got no idea if _you_ are, son. And as a father, that’s a hell of a thing to be wonderin’ about your own goddamn son. Your mom doesn’t say much, so I guess we Tellers are sort of alike that way- we rage, then we suffer in silence. I guess what I’m askin’ is… are you OK, son? With Thomas, with all of this?” As JT finishes and looks at him expectantly, Jax feels himself growing angry. Wasn’t the time for this talk months ago? And even if he still felt like shit about Tommy’s death- which he arguably does- how the fuck’s he supposed to answer “you OK?” That’s some shit his teachers said to him, weeks after it happened. It’s not like JT had shown he cared at all, when it mattered. He’d been too wrapped up in his own head.  
  
Jax finds himself, for the umpteenth time that afternoon, longing for fifteen minutes, an empty sidewalk, and Tara. She’d always understood back then that listening with zero expectations was usually exactly what he needed- and that’s just what’s pissing him off about this talk with JT. Jax’s conversations with Tara were always about what _he_ needed; this one seems to be about what _JT_ needs. Well, fuck it. He may not understand what’s come over him where Tara’s concerned, but he’s going to have to find a way to catch her alone; it’s clear nobody else in his life is going to cut it when it comes to _really_ talking. Resolute, he looks up at JT, steels himself, and answers with a curt-   
  
“Yep. I’m good.” JT’s eyes search his own, but Jax doesn’t let the mask slip, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible. Admittedly, it felt good to have JT address some of the things he’s been thinking over the past year, but the fact remains that there’s only one person he knows who could help him work through his shit. Thank God she’s back.

“About your party…” JT continues, leading Jax to groan.   
  
“I know mom’s gonna make it a whole thing. She said something about the club needing this celebration or some shit- I’m fine with that, I just don’t give a shit about the details. You two can do whatever you want, just let me know the time and I’ll be here.” Subject closed, for him, Jax eyes his father impatiently, suddenly anxious to locate Ope and Tara and get the fuck out of here. JT looks disappointed, but recovers nicely.   
  
“Alright, alright. We’ll set it up for Saturday night then. Your mom can handle the details. Just one thing, though… your bike.” JT peers at him, searchingly, smiling in anticipation as if expecting him to jump up and cheer at the mention of his bike. A year ago, he might have. As it is, Jax forces a smile and humors his father.   
  
“Dad, as long as it’s a Harley and won’t fucking die on me on the way to school, I’m in.” He ventures a smile, and JT returns it, grinning wickedly.   
  
“I think you better add another requirement to that list- it’s gotta be a Harley- one that runs- and one that will hold your girl.” What? Jax’s words mirror his thoughts.   
  
“What? Dad…”   
  
“Now don’t tell me I can’t see what’s in front of my face. I may have been locked up during a chunk of your childhood, but I didn’t miss how you and that little girl _were_ around each other.”   
  
“Dad, that was elementary school…” JT continued, almost as if Jax hadn’t spoken.  
  
“And don’t tell me it was a long time ago, ‘cause she’s back here now. Don’t give me any bullshit about how the two of you are ‘friends’, either. Even if you’re too stubborn to see it, I guarantee you _she’s_ not. That girl’s smarter than all of us put together, and then some.” JT smiles indulgently at his son, who hasn’t been more uncomfortable since they’d had the sex talk a few years ago. First Chibs, now his father…Christ, is he that fucking obvious?   
  
“Just one thing, son- don’t fuck it up.”


	8. Ch 8

After a fruitless search for Piney, Opie finally thinks to check the row of bikes outside; Tara watches as he briefly peruses the selection of chrome and glossy black before shaking his head. Jerking his head towards the clubhouse, Opie gestures to Tara to follow him and they head back into the cool, dim bar area.   
  
“We could play some pool or something while we wait,” suggests Opie with a grin. Tara snorts and shakes her head.   
  
“No thanks, you two were always _terrible_ at pool. I lost count of how many times I had to clear the table myself because one of you two babies refused to even finish the game.”

“Hell, we couldn’t have finished even if we’d wanted to because of all these overgrown children they call patched members were chomping at the bit to school a _third grader_ at pool.”

“At least _those_ games were friendly. And I could never beat Bobby or JT, but at least you could call it a _game_.” She smiles at him, fondly. Jesus, the sheer force of the memories that had hit her once they’d pulled into the TM lot had been almost overwhelming, and this familiar back-and-forth with Opie is just one more thing that feels like slipping on a familiar, comfortable pair of shoes. In fact, rolling through those gates had brought on nostalgia that rivaled being in her father’s home. She could almost see a blonde boy with striking blue eyes standing in the corner with a pool stick in his hand, his face a mixture of annoyance and pride. She could picture a tall, shaggy haired boy leaning his bike up against a picnic table and racing inside to grab them Cokes. Most of all, she could see them all here on the faded leather couch, comparing scrapes and bruises, bantering as only best friends could do.

“I think you’re just chicken.” Opie replies, a look of mock sympathy crossing his face before he grins and pokes at her side. “I’ll go grab us somethin’ to drink, give you time to come up with a better excuse.” He starts off towards the bar and Tara flops down on the couch. As one of her best friends in the world rummages through the fridge, she can’t help but revel in the wash of sheer gratitude that comes over her. Today had been the complete opposite of the lonely, awkward first day of school she’d imagined; to her complete shock, one of her two best childhood friends had completely accepted her return with no questions asked. Opie had picked her up and invited her right back into the fold as if no time had passed. And then, there’s Jackson. Well, _Jax_ , since it seemed like one thing that’s changed in Charming since she’d left it is the names of her two best friends.   
  
Tara closes her eyes, thinking of the way her heart had practically stopped once she’d realized where they were that morning. In hindsight, she probably should have assumed Opie would have been on his way to pick Jax up for school, but she had been far too caught up in nerves and relief that he’d stopped for _her_ at all to think much about anything else. His cryptic remarks about someone having had a rough year had flown right over her head as a result. And then Jax had emerged from the house, and she realized she’d been more nervous about seeing him than she’d thought- Tara had thought she’d written Jackson and Harry off as a bridge she’d burned, but the anticipation of seeing them again had come rushing back the moment she’d gotten in the truck.

Tara had also been struck with the realization that an almost sixteen-year-old Jackson Teller was a whole different ballgame than a nine-year-old Jackson Teller. He’d grown to what she’d estimated to be nearly six feet- not as tall as Opie, though he now towers over her. When he’d slung his arm over her shoulder earlier, she’d fit nearly perfectly under his arm. Not that she’s checking. The width of his shoulders, even the muscles she could clearly outline under the white SAMCRO shirt were that of a man, not of the boy she remembered. As much as her memories of Opie had seemed to meld seamlessly with the broad, gruff teenager he was now, the Jackson she watched swagger down the driveway stood in stark contrast to the boy she had once known.

As she’d opened the door for him, she’d watched the color drain from his face, had watched him lose his ability to speak- in fact, he hadn’t said a word until they’d reached the school. Opie had shot her a look that clearly said “I don’t know”, maybe even “I’m sorry”, and she’d spent the remainder of the ride talking quietly with Opie and feeling Jax nearly vibrate with tension on the seat next to her. At one point, he’d looked nothing short of angry, at others, he’d looked almost wistful, but his baseline had rested squarely at twitchy. She thought she’d been able to identify herself as the source of his anger- hell, she’d _expected_ him to be mad or at least curt- but _this…_

Then, they’d arrived at the school, and she’d turned to get out of the truck only to find Jax sitting stock-still next to her, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. Suddenly, she’d been reminded of their talks on the sidewalk between her house and Opie’s- the way he’d wave at Opie and then turn away, mask gone. He’d nearly hyperventilate as they walked down the driveway and a few steps down the sidewalk, and then take a deep breath before letting everything he’d been thinking and feeling since their last talk tumble out with it. Sometimes, she’d soothe him with a touch on the arm or shoulder, sometimes, she’d offer her own thoughts. Sometimes, she’d just listen and then tell him about her mom while he listened in return. By the time they were at her door, wordlessly hugging, the tension radiating from Jackson would be gone, his eyes back to their calm, sky-blue.

Tara had had no clue what was up with him this morning besides her return. Was he really that angry at her, or was there something else going on? Something with his family? The club? Even Opie? As she’d watched him struggle with whatever it was, though, the reason why ceased to matter as she did what was still second-nature- just like she’d been able to calm his manic rush of emotions back then, she’d placed her hand on his arm. Only she can’t recall, back then, feeling this… _heat_ , this electricity. It had radiated through her palm, up her arm, and caused the breath to disappear from her lungs. She’d closed her eyes for a moment, drowning in a sensation she couldn’t describe. No, _this_ had never happened before, and she definitely didn’t recall needing to remind herself to _breathe_ around Jackson. _What was this_?

She’d asked Jax the question she really needed to ask herself, then- “Are you OK?”- and Jax’s eyes had snapped open and locked on hers until everything else fell away. She’d forgotten the pure, sky blue of his eyes over the years, but at that moment she was sure she never would again. As he stared at her, she could almost glimpse the clear blue parting to reveal the stormy depths beneath. After a few moments, he’d seemed to don a mask, and the cocky smirk returned. He’d called her “darlin’”, which had made her heart race inexplicably until she had heard him refer to at least four other girls by the same on the way into school.   
  
All that day, though, Tara had watched the storm of emotions rage across Jax’s face; he’d always seemed to feel things more strongly than most- rage at a perceived slight, joy at a victory, love for his family, sorrow at a loss- but now it was as if he used the cocky “Jax Teller, Prince Charming” persona to mask what he was feeling from the world at large. But it seemed that he could barely contain his anger, his frustration his- what, exactly?– with her today, even as he guided her into the school by the small of her back, went out of his way to include her in he and Ope’s routine, and draped his arm around her shoulders. Jax had always worn his heart on his sleeve with her, but today it seemed as though his sleeve just didn’t have the space necessary for whatever the hell he was feeling.  
  
And that’s what’s been the black mark on what’s otherwise been a much better first day at Charming High than Tara had allowed herself to expect- Jax Teller’s perplexing up-and-down behavior. Not to mention her reaction to his presence, which she’s not even going to begin to analyze here at the clubhouse. As Opie approaches with a beer and a can of pineapple juice he’d likely excavated from the back of the bar fridge, an apologetic look on his face, Tara resolves to let things be. A resolution she immediately breaks when she can’t stop the words from tumbling out.   
  
“Harr- Opie? I know I was gone a long time, I know I didn’t even explain why… _shit_ , I didn’t even get to tell you guys goodbye before…” _Jesus Christ, don’t cry, Knowles!_ Tara looks up at the dark rafters of the clubhouse, willing the moisture to stay safely beneath her eyelids. His face immediately changing from apologetic to concerned, Opie rushes to put their drinks on a nicked coffee table and puts his arm around her for the second time today.   
  
“Tara… I know. I know. _We_ know. You didn’t choose to leave; you were nine fucking years old.” As Opie pulls her into his side, the dam breaks and the tears rush out, hot and slick down Tara’s cheeks. The clubhouse wavers in her vision almost as much as her voice does as she continues.  
  
“I _hated_ my aunt for taking me all the way down to San Diego, hated my dad even more for sort of forcing the issue. I wish I could have called you guys, come up to visit or something, I just…” Tara slumps into Opie’s side and buries her face between an arm and a solid chest- even words are too much at the moment as sobs wrack her body and seven years of regret and longing finally overwhelm her.

She’s not sure how long they sit there like that- her face pressed against his t-shirt, his arm wrapped around her, drawing her in until the space between them practically disappears- but it’s some time before she draws a shaky breath and mumbles against his side.   
  
“After it was clear that I wouldn’t be going back any time soon, my aunt thought it would be best just to start fresh, you know? She was right, too- all the friends I didn’t make the end of that first school year, all the people I refused to even consider-” Tara pulls her face from his side but doesn’t move away from his grasp, “-it was because I was comparing them to you and Jackson.” If Opie’s surprised by this, his face doesn’t show it as he meets her eyes. “It just wasn’t fair. To them, to myself… I couldn’t keep pretending I was going to come back to Charming, jump on my bike, and get back to normal. I had to make _that life_ my normal, you know?” Opie nods, his eyes searching hers. “Anyway, it worked, I guess. I made friends, had sleepovers, all that. It was just… I don’t know. Not the same.”

“Tara, _we_ weren’t the same. We were missin’ our best friend and neither of us saw it comin’. But we knew that it wasn’t your fault, either.” Drawing back, Tara shakes her head. Is he even listening to himself?  
  
“ _We_ , Opie? Maybe _you’re_ aware it wasn’t my fault, maybe _you’re_ happy I’m back… but what about Jackson? He’s been looking at me like I kicked his dog all day, and that’s only when he isn’t shaking ‘cause he’s so mad.” She swipes at her eyes with the back of a hand as Opie seems to be searching for something to say. _Great_.

“Jax…” Opie swallows, seems to be debating on whether or not to say what he’s about to say. “He, ah… well… remember how I told you he’s had a lot of shit to deal with the past year or so?” Tara nods. “I told you I wasn’t gonna lay all his shit out, and I ain’t. It ain’t for me to tell you. Besides, _he_ needs to tell you, I wouldn’t take that away from him. But I think you need to know this before you hear from someone else…” His voice trails off, and Tara straightens. God, this almost reminds her of that awful conversation with her parents years ago. “Tommy, well…” Immediately, Tara closes her eyes. _Jesus, not Tommy…_ She almost can’t bring herself to let Opie continue, but it won’t make what she already _knows,_ even before he says it, any less true. “Tommy died, a little over a year ago.” There is is. That familiar pain she used to feel whenever she’d unexpectedly see a photo of her mom in her aunt’s apartment or catch a whiff of her perfume on an old sweatshirt. She thinks of the little blonde haired boy, so much more serious than his older brother, even at a year old.

“What… what happened?” Tara whispers, not confident enough in her ability to keep her voice steady to speak any louder. Opie sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Gemma… well, her side of the family has that genetic heart condition, the one that got passed down to Tommy. Jax too, actually.” At this, Tara’s own heart skips a beat. _Jax_ has a heart condition? Unbidden, her eyes fill once again with tears. Opie shakes his head and reaches up with a thumb to swipe at the tears that manage to spill onto her cheekbones. “He’s fine Tara. More than fine. Whatever it is, Jax had a real mild case and I guess it corrected itself over time. Gemma, she had surgery for it at one point, but she’s fine too. Tommy, though… he had a hole in his heart. I guess it was expected to correct itself over time like Jax’s did, but a while after he turned four, he just got weaker and weaker. He wasn’t progressing any more and he was never strong enough for surgery. One day, he just collapsed. He was in the hospital for a little while, in and out of consciousness, and then they thought he was gettin’ stronger. Doctors thought he might even be able to have the surgery, but that night, he died. We all took it hard, but JT, Gemma and Jax… nothin’ was right for a long time after that. Jax _still_ isn’t right. Tommy and some other shit in his life has just been piling up, and you know how JT and Gemma can be.” At this, Tara raises an eyebrow. “OK, well, you don’t know. But JT’s been up to his neck in the club and Gemma, well, she prefers her family to keep a strong face, even if that means sweeping shit under the rug. That plus Jax’s stubborn ass… I don’t think he’s really dealt with Tommy’s death. Like, at all. He ain’t said shit to me about it except “I’m good”, even when I ask. You know better’n anyone that that shit isn’t just somethin’ you’re “good” with.”   
  
Tara nods. Does she ever. Even seven years later, she sometimes finds herself wishing her mom were here for her first date, her first car. She’d been lucky to have her aunt, who had done the best she could to listen, but she couldn’t say she was “good with it”. She _definitely_ couldn’t say her father was…  
  
“The thing is, Tara, he’s closed himself off from everyone. He hangs with me all the time, but we don’t talk about that shit- I try, though. We talk about what our bikes will look like, which girls are worth the time and which aren’t… but talkin’ to him, its like Tommy never happened. It’s been gettin’ worse lately, too. It’s like the universe knew it, though, because this morning I was on my way to school and there you were.” Tara laughs derisively.   
  
“Yeah, Ope, but even though _you’re_ willing to believe in some sort of divine intervention, here, like I’m the one that can fix all his problems, _Jax_ sure as hell isn’t. I saw the way he reacted to me this morn-“  
  
“That was just shock” Opie interrupts. “He told me himself he was just surprised.”   
  
“Shock or not, he’s been… _angry._ It’s like he hates me for leaving, but hates me even more for coming back. Then he convinces himself he doesn’t, but it doesn’t last long. And then, there’s this tension I don’t even know what to do with- he was shaking in the truck this morning, Opie. _Shaking_.”  
  
“He doesn’t hate you, Tara, but you’re right- there’s something else going on- but _like hell_ he’d tell me about any of it unless I asked. Like I said, though, he _was_ surprised to see you. He wasn’t expecting it any more than I was.” Tara rolls her eyes.   
  
“Sure, but _you_ aren’t sitting here glaring a hole in my face, then kissing my hand, then refusing to look at me, then smiling, then… Christ, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Opie.” Tara lets her hands fall, helpless, in her lap.   
  
“Tara, we were all friends. _Best_ friends. But you and Jax, you were different than you and me, or me and Jax. You’re the only one he trusted himself with enough to talk to, I think. Him and I, we gotta have trust between us. He’s like my brother, and one day he’ll be my Brother, in SAMCRO. But that trust ain’t the same as the way he trusts you- I watched him walk over to your house like he had the whole world on his shoulders so many times, and he’d always walk away like he was a hundred pounds lighter. Been thinkin’ about it all day, and I really think he just doesn’t know where to start now that you’re here. Sure, he might be carryin’ around a little anger that you weren’t here for him when he needed you or some shit, but he knows it ain’t your fault. And that’s not all it is, either. If it was _all_ about some misplaced anger shit, I’d have kicked his ass after school instead of draggin’ you over here with us. There’s somethin’ else goin’ on, I’m sure of it, but you’re gonna have to talk to him about that. Like I said, it ain’t my place.” Opie swipes a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m sittin’ here, talkin’ about Jax’s feelings like I’m fuckin Gemma or somethin’.” They share a laugh while Tara slides away, smoothing her hair, wiping her eyes.   
  
“I’m just so happy to be back, Opie. I know it’s been a long time, but I hope we can go back to being just Opie, Jax, and Tara. You’re right, I have to talk to him, put whatever this is to rest. From what I saw of the rest of the people in that school, I’m gonna need both of you. You up for it?” She’s relieved to see a smile cross his face, and meets it with one of her own.   
   
“I got you. _We_ got you.” Opie palms the can of pineapple juice and hands it to her. They crack their cans and sip in the relative silence of the clubhouse in the late afternoon. The shop won’t close for an hour or so, and the place is deserted. Tara knows that it will start to fill up with Sons, prospects, hangarounds and the ever-present women; she wonders how much of what Opie said earlier is true. Did Jackson really have his own personal flock of croweaters at CHS? Or even here at the clubhouse? Shifting, she tries to push away the nagging feeling that it isn’t a thought she likes, at all.   
  
As if on cue, the door to the Chapel creaks open and Jax is backing through it, saying something to JT she can’t quite make out. He turns to see the two of them waiting on the couch, cans in hand, and his face lights up. There’s really no other word to describe it; there’s also no word to describe what it does to her insides, for some goddamn reason. She takes a deep breath to steady herself as he crosses the large room towards them, his grin widening.

“I’m glad you’re still here. Shit took forever, I thought maybe you’d go to the café or something. Did you see Piney?” This was directed at Tara- she shakes her head.   
  
“No, he isn’t here. Bobby and Clay were busy, so we just came back in here and hung out.”   
  
“Hung out, huh? Ope didn’t let you kick his ass at pool?” Jax turns to Opie, who’s shaking his head ruefully.  
  
“Nah,” Opie replies, “she didn’t wanna play. Think maybe she’s gone chickenshit over the years.” Tara’s eyebrows shoot up.   
  
“I’m not chicken, I just had important things to discuss with Opie. You, for example.” She nods towards Jax. Opie shoots a warning glance at her and shakes his head as Jax spins around to face her, once again wearing that unreadable, tense mask.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Jax shoots back, “Like what? What could you possibly have talked about in the last twenty minutes that would begin to scratch the surface of the past seven years?” Opie’s look turns murderous as he rounds on Jax.   
  
“I told you I’d kick your ass if you were a dick to her about this, bro. I wasn’t joking. Leave it alone.” Opie’s practically hissing at this point, and Jax closes his eyes.   
  
“I know. _I know._ Shit.” He turns to Tara and takes her hand; she ignores the pleasant buzzing that takes up residence in her body as a result. “I’m sorry. It’s…” he runs his other hand through his hair, a nervous habit Tara’s beginning to enjoy watching “…today has been… _Shit_.” She squeezes his hand.   
  
“Jackson- Jax, I mean. It’s OK.” Opie turns to her, his mouth in a thin line.   
  
“No, Tara. Don’t give him a pass. It ain’t OK. He’s got shit to work out, but it ain’t on you.” As Jax opens his mouth to respond, Tara squeezes his hand again; he slowly closes it and swallows, hard.

“I’m _not_ giving him a pass, Opie. I’m not going to keep putting up with getting glared at, avoided, or blamed for something none of us could control in the _third grade_.” She shifts her eyes to Jax momentarily, who’s looking guilty. ”But it’s my first day back. _Our_ first day back. We all just need to get things out in the open- it sounds like you two already did that, right?” Both boys nod, and she raises an eyebrow at Opie. “ _We_ just did that. Give Jax and I a chance to talk before you’re too hard on him. He keeps it up, you can kick his ass with my blessing.” She bumps Jax with a shoulder and grins at Opie, who continues to watch Jax, eyes narrowed. Christ, what’s going through his head?   
  
“A’ight”, he says, finally. “I mean, if that’s what you want, Tara. Who knows, maybe after all these years you’d rather hang with the girls instead. They’ve got to be less dramatic.” The sardonic grin that crosses his face is the only thing that stops Tara from rolling her eyes at the thought of actually associating with the girls she’d met so far today.  
  
“Yeah, no, I don’t think that’ll be happening any time soon. Have you seen how the Pussy Patrol acts around Prince Charming, here? God knows I won’t be joining them any time soon, I’d need a much skankier wardrobe and a lot less self respect.” Bumping Jax again, she teases “I’m also going to have to develop a thing for blonds, and I think the wardrobe thing is much more likely to happen at this point.” Jax releases her hand, suddenly, and looks away as a flash of hurt crosses his face. Shit. She’s not trying to insult him; what the hell was _wrong_ with her- _them_ \- today? Opie looks back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before breaking the silence.  
  
“Well, I’m gonna wait around for Pops, You two want to hang here, maybe shoot some pool or something? Otherwise, I can give you a lift home and come back, I guess.” Tara wants nothing more than to take Opie up on his offer to while away the last of the deepening afternoon in the clubhouse, bask in the comfort that is the familiar friendship she and Opie never seemed to have lost. She spares a glance at Jax, who is still determinedly focusing on something in the corner of the clubhouse, and sighs. Whatever’s going on with Jax needs settled, and soon, or she’s going to have to kick his ass herself.   
  
“I think I’ll head home, Opie, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll run you home quick, then. Jax, you staying or going?” Tara doesn’t give Jax time to answer, but fixes Opie with a look she hopes is meaningful.

“Thanks anyway, Opie, but I could really use some fresh air after today. I think maybe I’ll walk home. Jax, I was hoping you’d be willing to tag along, make sure I don’t get my ass lost?” Jax’s head snaps in her direction and Tara swears she sees a glimmer of eagerness in his eye. But that couldn’t be- he’s barely been able to look at her all day. Well, when he’s not staring holes into the side of her head. Shit, she should probably at least attempt to explain herself to Opie, who’s looking at her like she’d just sprouted another head. “Uh, it’s been years since we rode over here on our bikes and I didn’t pay a lot of attention on the way over today.” From the looks of them, neither Jax or Opie buy her explanation, but she doesn’t have time to worry as Jax snatches her backpack from the floor near the couch and heads towards the door, tossing a glance back over his shoulder.  
  
“C’mon, it’ll be dark if we don’t get our asses in gear.” Tara and Opie exchange a look- his filled with questions, hers pleading.   
  
“Ope… I gotta talk to him, sort some of this shit out so we can just get back to… you know” she circles her hand, gesturing towards herself, Opie, and the door Jax had just exited through, “… _us_.” Opie sighs.   
  
“I know, Tara. And trust me, there’s nothin’ I want more than that. ‘Cept maybe a shiny new Dyna.” His eyes twinkle at her and she can’t help but smile. “But don’t put up with his shit, you hear me? Let him tell you about Tommy, his dad, the club, all of that; shit, I hope even whatever the fuck it is that’s been eating at him today, besides you. But he lays any of this on you and I’ll kick his ass, no joke.

“You already said that, but I really don’t want to be the reason you two fight.”

“I don’t _want_ to fight him, but he’s been a dick to everyone for months, and we’ve been cuttin’ him some slack because I get it- Guys don’t like to look like pussies, and spouting your feelings all over the place is the quickest way to look like a pussy. But he’s been angry and blaming everyone around him for shit they can’t control because he doesn’t know what to do with all the shit he’s got bottled up in there. He pulls that with _you_ , well… he’s not the best at showin’ people how he feels, least of all you, from the looks of today.”

 _What?_ She’d just gotten finished hearing all about how she’s the _only_ one Jax talks to. Opie evidently senses her confusion because he waves her off with a hand. “He always told you all about how he felt about JT, jail, the fucking _weather_ … but I’m doubting he ever said anything about how much he, well… _appreciated_ you being there for him.”  
  
“Jesus, Opie, we were in grade school… what-“  
  
“Yeah, yeah, but you aren’t now, and from what I can see, well… Goddammit, _it ain’t my place,_ like I said. Just make sure he remembers that, will ya? Go on, go before the Prince gets impatient.” Opie hesitates just a moment before reaching out and crushing Tara against his chest for a fleeting second. “Glad you’re back.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“See ya tomorrow, and tell Jax to stop by the house after he’s done talkin’ to you. I can bring his irritable ass home or he can crash at my place.” Nodding, Tara squeezes him back and turns to follow Jax out onto the lot. He’s already stalking back towards her from Opie’s truck when she reaches the picnic tables outside, his own backpack in his hand, Tara’s still on his shoulder.

"You ready?” Jax sounds tense but moments later, he breaks out in a brilliant smile when she nods yes. _God_ , that smile. He’d always had a way of charming those around him when they were younger; teachers who’d have called his parents about missing assignments or getting into it with some kid after school were easily swayed by a rueful grin and those shining blue eyes. Parents were just as likely to fall victim- Tara’s own parents had been fond of both Jackson and Opie; although Opie had grown up two doors down, though, it was Jackson that had her mother calling him “that sweet Teller boy” and her father thanking him for his steadfast support the day they’d broken the news of Grace’s illness. Boys wanted to befriend him, girls turned into giggling heaps in his presence (which still seems to be the case, Tara thinks, rolling her eyes)… but somehow, as Tara thinks back on the Jackson Teller she knew, she remembers the bright eyed boy with the brilliant smile, yes, but also the searching eyes, the earnest conversation, the bracing hugs, and the unwavering loyalty. She hopes beyond hope that those things are still there, below the charm, the smirk and the swagger. But for now… Jackson’s smile is twisting her insides, sending a shiver up her spine that she can’t help releasing through her fingertips. Jax’s grin is immediately replaced by a frown of concern.   
  
“Hey, are you cold? I can grab a hoodie from inside, it gets chilly here quick when the sun starts going down.” Without waiting for an answer, Jax bounds back across the lot and ducks into the clubhouse. A minute later, he emerges, triumphantly, with a black Reaper hoodie and hands it to her.   
  
“Thanks.” Tara’s not cold, at all, but no way is she about to tell Jax _he’s_ the source of her shivers. As she slides the hoodie over her head, though, she catches him staring and almost shivers again at the look in his eye. It almost looks like… _lust_. Or maybe longing, but at least affection. Before she can get too caught up analyzing yet another Jax Teller facial expression, Tara quickly reminds herself of three facts as they set off out the gates of T-M; for one, Jax Teller is angry with her. For another, even if he wasn’t he could have his pick of any of the tens of blonde model lookalikes at CHS. For a third, he’s the heir apparent of SAMCRO and she’s the town drunk’s daughter he’s known since he was five. Anyway, lust, longing, and fucking fairytales pale in comparison to a long walk with a friend- someone who truly understands you.

At least, that’s what Tara tells herself as Jax’s fingertips brush against her own when he hitches her backpack over his shoulder, and the shivers begin yet again.

  
  



	9. Ch 9

They walk in silence for a stretch of three or four blocks, partially because Jax is actually enjoying just walking with Tara, and partially because he’s got no fucking clue where to start and keeps finding things to focus on other than the heart-to-heart that’s undoubtedly imminent. Even if he _wanted_ to concentrate, he has no clue how the fuck to settle his overactive mind in her presence. It’s particularly distracting the way her arm keeps rubbing against his, her fingers occasionally brushing against his own, each such occasion sending prickles rushing from the point of contact to the rest of his body. Neither of them are acknowledging it but neither move towards their respective edges of the sidewalk, either. In fact, Jax is considering experimentally hooking her pinky with his own, or briefly squeezing her hand, or running his hand down the small of her back and maybe onto the upper curve of her perfect, round…  _Holy shit, Teller. This is Tara you’re thinking about._

Christ, he can’t be blamed for having these thoughts, though, can he? It’s a cold hard fact that Tara’s what most people would call pretty; half the school was buzzing about her return and just how kind SoCal had been to her. What most of them don’t know, though, is how a smile- a true, genuine smile- can transform Tara from the pretty girl in English class into drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous. It’s a secret Jax wants to keep to himself, because even though he won’t- _can’t_ \- turn on the Teller charm and find out the rest of her secrets (for many fucking reasons that tend to evade him every time her warm hand touches his own), that doesn’t mean he’s going to watch as some prick chases after her, either. She just got back and doesn’t need to be fending off lecherous assholes, himself included.

“Jackson?” Her voice invades his inner musings and Jax is struck once again by the sheer novelty of having her here with him after so many years.   
  
“Yeah?” She’s looking at him, green eyes wide and- he thinks- vulnerable. _That’s_ something new. While she’s always been intuitive, compassionate, and caring, he can’t think of a moment in their past when she’s been so… _exposed_ in his presence, besides the time surrounding her mother’s illness and death. He’s usually the one unloading his issues, baring his soul, and it appears that Tara’s about to return the favor.

“Sorry, I meant to say Jax, it takes some getting used t-“  
  
“Tara, it’s fine.” He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind it when you say it. Jackson, I mean. It’s… nice. Nobody’s called me Jackson for a few years besides Gemma.” She raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Oh, and I suppose you prefer Jax because it sounds _so_ much more ‘badass biker’?”  
  
“Nah, darlin’, its just somethin’ the ladies started and everyone else picked up on. I’m actually not sure where it came from, but it’s a natural way to shorten my name, I suppose- _what_?” Tara’s eyes had narrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line. So much for vulnerability.  
  
“That darlin’ shit… don’t _call_ me that, Jackson. I’m not one of your _ladies,_ and I’m damn sure not about to let you blow me off like you do them. Darlin’ this and darlin’ that… I bet you don’t even know half their names, do you?”  
  
“’Course I do. I’ve known most of the high school since I was in elementary.” Jax has no idea where this came from, but its sure as shit not what he’d expected to be grilled on.  
  
“That’s even worse, then. You know their names, but put them all under the same umbrella term. _Darlin’…_ it’s supposed to be a term of endearment, yet you refer to almost every girl in the school that way, including me?”   
  
“Jesus, Tara, it’s a habit. I don’t know what else to say.” What the fuck does she want from him? He’d grown up listening to JT, Piney, Clay, and God knows who else call every female under the sun ‘darlin’. Especially when they needed something. Goddammit, maybe she had a point…

“You don’t have to _say_ anything. I just don’t want to be lumped in with all the other girls at this school. Especially by you. Or Opie, for that matter.” Tara juts out her chin and crinkles her eyebrows, an expression Jax immediately recognizes as the one she’s always donned when she’s formulating a question. “Where did Opie come from, though, really? He told me not to ask.” Jax can’t help laughing, both at her question and in utter relief that he’s no longer the focus of her ire.

“Well, speaking of _badass biker_ … Harry really isn’t a name that screams “badass”, is it?”  
  
“Neither is Opie…” she counters.  
  
“Nope. But you remember all the Harry jokes he used to get, don’t you?” She nods, undoubtedly remembering “Harry Butt”, “Harry Nutsack” and other gems the older boys had come up with. Now, none of those idiots would bother messing with Ope, who’d become nothing short of a giant and was a SAMCRO heir to boot; even though they weren’t prospecting for a couple years, their and SAMCRO’s reputation were separately “nothing to mess with” and combined, a force to be reckoned with. Back then, though, Jax and Opie’d gotten into many a shoving match when the nicknames had become too much. “Well, he finally went to Piney and Mary one day back in the 5th grade and asked if he could change his name. Piney’s name is fucking _Piermont,_ so I think he understood a little bit. But Mary said nobody was gonna call him by anything but his given name, so…”  
  
“Don’t tell me Opie’s his middle name?” Tara can barely hold in her laughter as Jax answers, chuckling.  
  
“Yep. Harry Opie Winston. Apparently, Mary had a real hard-on for Andy Griffith back in the day, and Ope had such a round face and red hair when he was born that she thought he looked like Ron Howard or some shit. Anyway, most of the modern world hasn’t watched the Andy Griffith show for a few decades now, especially not the assholes in Charming Elementary, so nobody in our grade had shit to say about it when he started labeling his school shit with “Opie”. I don’t even think anyone remembers his name is Harry, really. He couldn’t be happier about that shit. But don’t tell him I told you, or he really will kick my ass.”

Tara smiles, undoubtedly picturing Ope as a chubby, redheaded baby, and silence fell over them again. Tara and Opie had picked right back up where they’d left off. Why wasn’t _he_ capable of doing the same, for _her_? And what had she been about to say before they’d gotten off track? In any case, he’d better get his head out of his ass before Opie, Tara, or both were tempted to use him as a goddamn punching bag. From what he remembers, Tara had a decent left hook. _Christ, here we go…_

“Hey, Tara?” Jax doesn’t wait for an answer, lets the words rush out before he can second-guess himself. “I’m glad you’re back.” Holy shit, that smile- not the small grins she’d bestowed on most of CHS today, but this real, genuine smile he secretly hopes is reserved for him and maybe Opie… It made her face light up- he’d heard of sparkling eyes before, but he’d never really known before this moment that the term was literal. Her eyes practically glow in his direction; her plump lips are somehow even more delectable as they curve upwards. The tension in the rest of her face seems to relax as she lifts her eyes to his and looks into his goddamn soul. Jesus, he’ll say anything, _do_ anything for her, if she’ll just keep looking at him like this.   
  
“I am too, Jackson. I missed you guys. I missed _you_.” Just as he had done to her in the clubhouse, Tara grabs his hand, but she does him one better and twines her fingers through his; the simple touch nearly takes his breath away, and all he can do is squeeze her hand. They walk this way for a bit, and Jax barely notices their surroundings. Christ, they could be walking through a minefield or through Mayan territory for all he knows; his sole focus is on the slender fingers enclosed in his much larger hand and the way they seem to be sending warmth throughout his entire body. Eventually, he’s vaguely aware of her hand tugging on his own, leading them to the edge of the sidewalk, but he doesn’t realize where they’re headed until they veer down a smaller path and towards a small park with a shelter house at its edge. Under the roof are a few picnic tables and Tara pulls him along towards them, keeping his hand in her grasp even as they perch on one of the tabletops.

“Jackson…” her voice trails off as she studies their linked hands, now resting on Jax’s knee. Jesus, what a day it’s been already. Jax feels like he’s been on a never-ending roller coaster ride- descending sharply downhill the moment he saw Tara in Ope’s truck, the jittery ascent of the ride to school, another stomach clenching plunge the moment she touched him… up and down, up and down and he can’t decide what’s more unnerving- the slow build to the temporary peaks, or the exhilarating rush of the descents. Regardless, he can feel them rising to another precipice- whatever this conversation will be is slowly clacking along, bringing them towards another freefall.

He fleetingly tries to recall the last time a girl had half this effect- _any_ effect, really- on him, and comes up empty. The bottom line, he concludes, is that she’s different from all the rest of them, beginning with the fact that he actually gives a shit about what she’s about to say. His thoughts are halted when she finally peers up at him through thick black lashes, the vulnerability back in full force.   
  
“I’m sorry I left, Jackson. I’m sorry I didn’t-“ she’s cut off as Jax drops her hand to encircle her shoulders with his arms as he shifts to face her on the tabletop; pressing against her seems to both ease the tightness in his chest and fill it with space, expanding rapidly as though he’s floating from the inside. All he can think of in this moment is to shush her, stop her from voicing the guilt he knows at his core she shouldn’t be carrying, the guilt that’s been smoldering beneath both of them all day. And he’s the one that’s been stoking the fucking fire.  
  
“Shhhh…” he doesn’t say anything else, just presses her closer to him, her chin on his shoulder. She relaxes into him briefly before pulling away, pinning him with a stare.  
  
“No, I need to say this.” Her eyes burn into his, and he feels almost frantic in his desire to stop her from accepting responsibility for the past seven years- the chasm forced by her father, their reunion hampered by Jax’s own stupid ego.  
  
“Tara. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were nine fucking years old, you didn’t have a choice-“ She’s shaking her head vigorously, twisting her hands in her lap, and he can see the words bubbling up in her throat as she cuts him off.

“I had to move, but I didn’t have to stay away.” She swipes quickly at the tears that streaked across her cheeks before continuing. “I spent that first few months convincing myself I was coming right back. I didn’t let _anyone_ in, I barely even talked at school. You know that isn’t me.” Jax huffs out a short laugh. She’s more than right about that- she’d been the resident know-it-all, their third grade teacher had chided her more than once that her big brain had made her too big for her britches. Even more so, she’d been their little group’s resident smartass, the first to crack a joke or poke fun at any and everyone she felt comfortable around. The thought of Tara Knowles as a reserved wallflower would have been laughable before today, when he’d witnessed her ghost her way through the hallways of CHS.  
  
“My aunt told me I needed to make friends, that I needed to put my life up here behind me so I could do that. Its like I told Opie, I needed to make San Diego my _new normal_ and I think that ended up being the only reason I didn’t slowly go crazy there. I had to… sort of keep the two of you in my heart, just like I did with my mom. But I missed you all so much.” As she tears up, Jax pulls her into an embrace again but this time it isn’t to shut her up. He needs to do something to let her know that he felt the same way over those years, because God knows every time he’s tried to _say_ something to that effect today, he’s fucked it all up.

Moments tick by as her breath evens out a bit and at some point, he’s no longer comforting her- it’s about him, even though he’s pretty sure this makes him a selfish asshole once again. Normally, pressed this close to a girl, he’d be using every slick move in his repertoire to claim her; this time, the only move he makes is the one he’s wanted to make since he saw her in the truck this morning. His hand leaves her shoulders, ghosting along his hoodie to the center of her spine, then slowly into her hair. He revels for a moment in the warmth it still holds from the waning sunlight before letting skeins of dark brown silk slip through his fingers. Over and over again, he runs his hand through her hair until he’s fairly sure he can no longer pass this off as comforting her; he has to say _something._ Reluctantly, he pulls back until he can search her eyes, his hand falling still at the base of her scalp.   
  
“We- I- missed you too. So much. I don’t know how much Opie told you, but things have been rough here lately. You’ve always been the only one I felt comfortable telling things to, so when you were gone, it was like I suddenly had no outlet, nowhere for all those feelings to go.”   
  
“Jackson, I-“  
  
“No, Tara. Stop apologizing for something that wasn’t your fault. _I’m_ the one who needs to apologize, I know I’ve been an asshole today. I _know_ I fucked up, and that’s the last thing you needed. I’m sure it wasn’t easy coming back, and I could barely talk to you.” A look into her eyes confirms his suspicion- he’d upset her, made her cry, even. Christ, that’s the last thing he wants to do. “I just… it’s not an excuse, Tara, I swear it’s not. But when I saw you sitting there, all those feelings I’d had over the years, the shit I haven’t been able to say to _anyone_ , all came rushing back. It’s like somehow I knew that things were going to be better, but that they were going to get worse, first. I… I don’t even know how else to explain it. But I couldn’t say anything, I didn’t _trust_ myself to say anything, because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Taking a shaking breath, Jax drops his hand into his lap- even the small amount of contact they’d had triggers the urge to keep talking, tell her about the buzzing, tingling, shaking mess she’s had him in all day, ask her if it’s happening to her, too. The thing is, though- he’s not sure she’s felt it at all (but how can she _not_ be party to this full-body reaction every time they touch?), and he’ll be damned if he’s going to fall down _that_ rabbit hole alone. “I’m sorry, Tara. I wish I could be more like Opie, I do. He’s always so calm, always waits and does the right thing. But me…” She gives him a small, wavering smile. It isn’t anything close to the dazzling grin she had for him before, but it’s something.   
  
“I don’t expect you to _change_ , Jackson. You don’t have to be like Opie- the three of us work pretty well together as-is, don’t you think? I just want you to _tell_ me when you’re angry with me, so-“   
  
“I’m not angry. I haven’t _been_ angry. Just… Christ, I don’t know- I’m _upset_ , at myself, at the circumstances… but not angry, and definitely not at you.” He pins her with what he hopes is his most sincere look, which she seems to accept.  
  
“Well, whatever it is, I just want you to tell me. Like you used to, so we don’t have this constant up and down, or back and forth. Whatever this is.” She gestures between the two of them. Jesus, he can’t tell her he’s been alternating between avoiding her and panting after her all day. What she needs is his friendship, not to be the subject of some ill-advised fantasy. Except that’s most of the reason they’d been mired in the back-and-forth. Realizing that she’s waiting for him to speak, he decides to give her what she can handle- what _he_ can handle.

“It”- he inserts air quotes as he says ‘it’- “is mostly Tommy. I don’t know if-“  
  
“Opie told me” she says, softly, her green eyes full of compassion, “back at the clubhouse. I’m so sorry, Jackson.” This time, she hugs _him_ , wrapping her arms around his neck as his encircle her waist. He fights back the tears that always come when he stops to think about his brother, and buries his his face in her hair to whisper   
  
“I know.” And he _does_ know- he knows she cares, knows the intent behind her embrace is pure and comforting- unlike his- knows that if anyone understands, it’s her. Almost as if she’s read his thoughts, she continues.

“I can’t say I know what it’s like, losing a brother- I never had siblings or anything. But when I lost my mom, you and Opie were there for me and I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” And she doesn’t. For the next few minutes, they stay, Jax breathing in the scent of her shampoo- of _her_ \- Tara never loosening the arms wrapped around his neck. When he trusts himself to speak again, it’s a murmur, near her ear.   
  
“After he died, Ope was the only one that stayed, really. It just wasn’t the same. Mom was wrapped up in her own world- all she did was smoke cigarette after cigarette and stare at his photo albums. I didn’t even _see_ my dad until a couple weeks after the funeral- he checked out worse than mom.” Cringing, Jax pulls away from Tara to rub the bridge of his nose. “He was in fucking Belfast more than he was here, club business or some shit. It’s _always_ club business. But the most fucked up thing was, once they’d checked out and gotten through the worst of it on their own, it was like Tommy never existed. Hell, I don’t think my mom even said his name for nearly nine months.” Jesus, he sounds like a goddamn baby, but he can’t deny how big of a fucking relief it is to finally say this shit out loud, to have someone listen. Especially Tara. Before he can talk himself out of it, he releases the worst of it, in a rush. “They went from missing him so much they didn’t give two shits about me, to fucking normal, just like that. Because that’s what you _do_ in an MC, right? You pick yourself up off the floor and you move the fuck on. You don’t act like a pussy, even when it’s your six-year-old baby brother they’re putting in the ground, because showing you fucking care isn’t being a _leader_. Apparently, being a leader is taking off for Belfast and having your head up some other charter’s ass.”   
  
“Oh, Jackson… I know you don’t need me to excuse them, and I won’t. But it was unfamiliar territory for them, too. They should have been there for you, and nobody should have to keep things bottled up like that, but don’t ever think that your parents don’t care about you or don’t love you. I _know_ they do. I just think they felt lost, you know? Just like you.” The sound of her voice, acknowledging some of the things he’d been thinking over the past year, has exactly the effect he’d hoped it would, but feeling the release of finally being able to call out his parents for their bullshit is even more cathartic, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop.   
  
“They’re lost, sad, and whatever, Tara. I get that. But they’re _adults_. I’m a fucking teenager, and they’re my parents, but the only one I feel comfortable talking about any of this shit with is you. Why is that, Tara?” Jax finally loses the battle to fight back tears and a few escape down his cheeks. Fuck.   
  
“You’re right, that wasn’t fair to you. They needed to deal with Tommy’s death in their own way and neither of them saw that you needed to deal with it in yours. But can you honestly say that _nobody_ else was there for you?” Jax stiffens. He’s not the adult, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not talking about your parents, here, though I think you need to at least let them know you still remember and care for Tommy, tell them what you’re thinking. But Opie loves you too, Jax, like a brother, and he cares just as much as I do about what happens to you.” She eyes him nervously, as if he’s a grenade she’d just tossed the pin away from. Jax has to take a moment to digest what she’s said, but it makes sense. It’s just that he likes the way things are with Opie. No reason to change that, especially not when he finally has Tara back.   
  
“I know he cares, Tara. And maybe I should have told him some of this shit, or at least apologized for being a prick. But _you_ … you just… I don’t know. You make everything so clear, and you always have. And I don’t want to drag you down with all my shit, you have your own shit to deal with. I just want you to know that even though you were gone, even though I’ve been a dick to you today… Christ, I don’t even know how to say this to you. Maybe Ope’s right, maybe I _am_ emotionally stunted.”

He pulls away to stand up as Tara eyes him cautiously. If he’s being honest with himself, not even _he_ knows what he wants to say to Tara, let alone _how_ to say it. If he’s being brutally honest, he’s pretty sure he loves her- not exactly in the way he loves Ope, and not really in the way JT loves Gemma (he’s definitely not ready for some bullshit relationship, though his dick seems to have taken plenty of opportunity today to build a case for the latter). All he knows is that he’s never felt more confused in his life and it had all started the moment he saw her sitting in Ope’s truck. But how the fuck do you tell your best friend you maybe kind of love her, though you haven’t been best friends for years, especially when you can’t even put a finger on what the fuck kind of love you’re talking about? The answer is decidedly, Jax thinks- you don’t. Time to finish this conversation before he gets in even further over his head.

“C’mon, we better keep walking or it’s gonna be pitch black.” Extending his hand to Tara, he helps her hop off the table and keeps her hand in his as he leads her back to the sidewalk.

They walk in companionable silence for a couple blocks until Jax’s conscience tells him she probably could use a listening ear, too. So he asks about her aunt (dead, about which Tara is sad but matter-of-fact), her dad (whom she’s seen for a total of about 6 hours other than the disastrously awkward trip up from San Diego), her mom (whose memory apparently still practically haunts her father’s house), and her school in San Diego (full of preppy surfer types, though she’d made a few friends and had had a boyfriend, at which Jax bites his lip to conceal his dismay). They pass Opie’s house, where the truck sits in the driveway, prompting Tara to sigh.  
  
“It’s just so strange, how we’ve all changed. Years ago, we’d have been riding by here on our bikes to drop _Harry_ off at his house. Now his name is Opie and there’s a piece of shit truck in the driveway that’s _his_. And Tara and _Jackson_ would have taken ages to walk up to my driveway, but Tara and Jax…” She trails off, Jax thinks, because not that much has changed. For once, he can tell her exactly what he’s thinking.  
  
“I told you, Jackson’s fine. And not that much has changed, Tara, but it’d be stranger if _nothing_ had changed, wouldn’t it?” As they walk up her driveway and around to the side door, he notices the Cutlass is missing. Rick’s out with his buddies, he surmises. “You want me to come in until your dad gets back? Or you can come over to Opie’s with me, grab something to eat before he takes me home.” She shakes her head.   
  
“No, I need to finish unpacking. I wasn’t planning to be out all afternoon, really.” They stand there, awkward together for the first time all evening, before Jax pitches forward to hug her once again and she sighs in what he thinks might be relief. He takes the opportunity to bury his face in her hair one more time, which he realizes is a mistake the moment his cock twitches. Careful to keep some distance between their lower bodies, he regrets not being able to pull her to him as tightly as he’d like. But for what? _This can’t be that. She doesn’t need that_ , he reminds himself. Still, as he releases her, Jax can’t resist dragging his cheek along her baby-soft one and touching his lips to it as they pass. He feels her shiver, but it’s probably just the cool evening air. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispers  
  
“Don’t go anywhere. Please.”   
  
“I’m not.”   
  
And before he can do something they’d both regret, he takes a moment to file away the vision of her eyes, shining in the streetlight, before backing away and jogging to Opie’s house like he’s being chased by Mayans.


	10. Ch 10

  
As the first week of school drags on, Jax, Tara and Opie settle into a routine that Jax assumes will only change again on his sixteenth birthday when he receives his bike. Each morning, Opie idles the truck at the curb in front of Tara’s house and she drops her backpack into the bed before sliding into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, they stop at Jax’s; Tara moves to the middle of the bench seat and Jax sits a little closer to her each day, both of them pretending not to notice their arms brushing (though with the side eye Opie gives Jax by the time Friday rolls around, he’s pretty sure his friend has noticed his sudden aversion to the passenger side door). This is a part of Jax’s routine that’s somehow become what’s simultaneously the worst and the best part of his days; as a result, all day he’s constantly thinking about touching her, trying to avoid contact, trying to think up new excuses to touch her… he’s a walking fucking contradiction. If he’s being honest, though, he’d been hoping this shit he’s feeling would die down as he gets used to being around her again- no such luck. To make matters worse, he hasn’t been alone with Tara since that walk home the first day of school- she’d accepted Opie’s rides home but declined hanging out with the boys at T-M to unpack and generally get her father’s house in order; on second thought, though, that’s probably for the best.

Normally, a situation that had him this on edge would be remedied by a quick blowjob by the hottest available croweater- he’d taken a leggy redhead into the back of the clubhouse last night with that very intention. It had at least appeared that word had spread that Jax Teller was only interested in oral, because she hadn’t attempted to kiss him or seemed to expect sex. However, the moment her hand had burrowed into his boxers, he’d shot up out of the chair and zipped up, stomach suddenly roiling. The redhead had readily accepted his excuse that he’d forgotten JT had asked him to help Tig man the tow, and he was forced to spend the next hour on a run with the abrasive Prospect. Worse, Tig’s moody bouts of silence (between complaints about being stuck with a “stupid kid”) gave Jax plenty of time to lament the fact that the one thing that had been easy about his life these days had just taken a steep dive into the fucked-up- girls had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated.

Opie parks at the far edge of the CHS lot and extracts a pack of cigarettes from the overflowing glove box. Offering one to Jax, he clears a few leaves from the bed and they all sit in place of the missing tailgate much like they sat in the cab of the truck, Tara in the middle.   
  
“Looks like IN-Hale has a new cage” Opie offers derisively, as they watch Jacob, Jr exit a cherry Viper and lean on it smugly- it’s red, of course. Despite the fact that the older Hale brother shares his father’s pig nose, flushed face, and extra 30 pounds, his family’s status in Charming coupled with the fact that he’s an effective lineman on the CHS football team still garner him plenty of female attention. The fact that he has money and a brand new car doesn’t hurt either, Jax thinks as he watches the Pussy Patrol sidle up to the car and begin to give Hale way more attention than he deserves, in his opinion.   
  
“Fuck the Hales” Jax offers, and takes a drag from his cigarette. Tara rolls her eyes.   
  
“Are you two still holding onto _that_ grudge? You had to have known Jacob wasn’t going to take that shit lightly.” Jax shakes his head as he remembers the day back in elementary Hale and two of his buddies had trashed his and Opie’s bikes with baseball bats. It had been in retaliation for a prank they’d pulled at his father’s legal office downtown- evidently, neither Hale Sr. or Jr.  had been too fond of having the family resemblance to Miss Piggy pointed out in poster form for the whole town to see. In any case, the 6 th grader and his friends had completely destroyed Jax’s prized Huffy, while most of Opie’s bike went missing altogether. Tara had made fun of them for weeks, zipping around on her own pristine Schwinn, riding circles around the boys as they walked to and from school.  
  
“Naw, we got ol’ IN-Hale back a few times over,” Jax  scoffs. “He’s just a prick. So’s the rest of his rich-ass family.”   
  
“OK, first, IN-Hale?” Tara raises an eyebrow as Opie cracks up.   
  
“Yep. Ol’ boy likes to slum it and smoke up with us hooligans- at least when he’s at a party and is trying to impress some chick. Only, he Bill Clintons it every time so he doesn’t get popped for weed and kicked off the football team- _I didn’t inhaaaale…_ ” Ope does a fair impression of an Arkansas twang. “We _might_ have pointed this out a few times before everyone caught on. So now it’s known pretty much school-wide that he’s a poser.” Opie shrugs and tosses his cigarette on the ground, standing to stub it out with his shoe. Tara narrows her eyes.  
  
“Well, Jacob may be a bit of an idiot-“  
  
“An understatement.” Jax interjects, tossing his own butt onto the pavement.  
  
“-but _David_ isn’t so bad. He was always sweet, just a little delusional that he could out-ride you two.” Tara smirks at them, and Jax snorts at the thought of a Hale being “not so bad”.   
  
“Trust me, Tara. That family’s in Charming like fleas in a rug, but twice as annoying. Judge Hale’s messed with my family more than anyone in town, including the police. He’s a dick and he has it out for SAMCRO.”  
  
“Please. He’s _supposed_ to have it out for SAMCRO- he’s a judge and they do illegal shit. I love ‘em, but you and I both know not a single one of them’s an angel. And even if he did, it doesn’t mean _David’s_ a bad person. He’s the only one besides the two of you that’s bothered to talk to me at all since I got back. He even invited me to that party tonight.” Jax had been preparing his counterargument- the story about Judge Hale throwing the book at Tara’s old man on the tip of his tongue- when the bit about David Hale inviting Tara to a party pushes everything else out of his mind. No _fucking_ way is he letting this happen. He’s still formulating a protest when he catches Opie’s glare over Tara’s head. _What?_

“That party’s gonna be lame anyway, Tara,” Opie offers quickly, “Melissa Rourke does this every year- it’s always a bunch of jackass jocks and cheerleaders circle-jerking each other about how great they are, two cheap-ass kegs of beer, and not nearly enough weed.” Opie shakes his head at Jax over Tara’s head again before she turns to him, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Yeah, well, you and the _Prince_ here got a personal invitation from the party girl herself. You’re telling me you’re not going to show up after that… that _Barbie_ made it clear you were the only guys in town worth inviting?” Tara bats her eyes sarcastically at Opie before sparing Jax a scathing glare, taking him off-guard. _What the fuck did I do?_ “The leader of the _Pussy Patrol_ practically offers herself up on a plate for you and you’re not going to line up for a serving? Doesn’t seem like your MO. Or maybe you two just don’t want me there to mess up your game. After all, she _was_ pretty adamant that I not come…” _His MO_? What does she know about his MO? Had Hale said something? Jax nearly stutters in his attempt to tell Tara that he wouldn’t be caught dead at this lame-ass party- unfortunately, Tara seems to take this to mean that he’s simply overwhelmed by how accurately she’s just depicted his proclivities, and smirks at the both of them.   
  
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to tag along with you or anything. If I go, I’ll ride with David, he’s not trying to impress anyone. I’ll probably just stay in and watch a movie, though. You guys can come over after the party if you want, my dad’s got work.” Opie and Jax stare at her, a bit dumbfounded at both her ire and at the quick turnaround, and she chuckles derisively. “Stop staring. Boys think they’re so _smooth_ , but it isn’t hard to figure out their habits if you watch closely enough. Especially when they’ve hooked up with half the school.” Her eyes rest on Jax’s for a moment and he’s speechless. After a moment of silence, she closes her eyes briefly before groaning. “ _God_ , I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch, I promise. I just have to remember that my best friends are boys, and I don’t get a say in what you do. Or _who_ you do, I guess. I’ll see you in English, I have to get my notebook back from David before class, he borrowed it because he missed Wednesday.” Tara reaches between them to grab her backpack from the bed of the truck and turns to hurry across the parking lot, dark ponytail sailing behind her.   
  
Jax and Opie stand in utter silence for a few moments before Jax catches Opie’s eye and they both react simultaneously.   
  
“Jesus Christ-“  
  
“I knew I liked Tara-“   
  
Jax shoots Opie a glare, and Opie bursts out laughing. He doesn’t stop for several beats and Jax finally snaps.   
  
“Goddammit, Ope, what the fuck is so funny?” It takes several more moments until Opie catches his breath and straightens, shaking his head.   
  
“She just read you like a book, bro. And the funny thing is, you had no clue it was comin’, did you?” Jax stares back at him, clueless. “Man, I’ve been watchin’ you lose your shit over her all week. Granted, I didn’t know what was happening at first when she asked me-“ Jax’s head snapped up.   
  
“Asked you what?” Opie rolled his eyes.   
  
“Asked me what the fuck your problem was, dipshit. I was too stupid to see it on Monday, so I told her you’d need to tell her yourself- not that I’d have dimed you out, anyway. ‘Course, that was when I thought your old man and Tara taking off were your _only_ problems. But this… _This_ is priceless.” He chokes out another laugh as Jax’s eyes narrow.

“And what is… _this,_ exactly?” Opie shakes his head, obviously exasperated.  
  
“Man, you really _are_ in denial, aren’t you? _Tara_.  I’ve been watching your moody ass fawn all over her all week. It was about Tuesday when I figured it out- you can’t even stand next to her without your hand twitching. And don’t think I don’t catch all the handholding and hugging and shit you guys do- you were always grabbing her hand and shit as a kid, but now... That’s why you were so tore up about her coming back, isn’t it? And why it bugs you so much when she takes up for Hale.” Jax briefly considers denying the utter mess he’s been in all week, but Opie’s stare convinces him it just isn’t worth the trouble. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes briefly before speaking.   
  
“I don’t even know what happened, bro. The moment I saw her, it’s like someone hit me over the head or something. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move… _Christ_ , I can’t even _think_ about her without feeling like I’m having a goddamn heart attack. And thinking about her with some other guy- especially a Hale…” Opie’s looking at him like he’s crazy. Shit, he might just _be_ crazy, he’s sure as hell feeling like it.  
  
“Jesus, I didn’t know it was like _that_. You’ve known her since we were five.”  
  
“Believe me, I know that. But I don’t even know what I’m doing, at this point. Every time she touches me, I swear to God it’s like I’m losing my mind. But I keep going back for more, I can’t help it. It just don’t make any sense. You’re right, we always were casual about hugging and shit, she’d hug me after I unloaded all my personal shit on her, or hold my hand when I was upset. That kinda thing. But now… its like I keep finding excuses to touch her, knowing that it’s just gonna fuck me up even more. _What_?” Opie’s standing there, listening to his tirade, mouth hanging open. “ _What_ , Ope?”

“This shit’s serious, bro. You _like_ her, don’t you? Like… really like her. This isn’t just you staring at her ass or something, trying to get in her pants. I mean, you don’t even hardly look at high school chicks anymore anyway…” Jax shakes his head vigorously.   
  
“I swear, man, the last thing I want is to get into her pants. Well, not the _last_ thing… fuck. It’s _Tara_. She’s my best friend- well, one of them- that’s why this is so fucked up. I mean, normally, I’d lay it on thick, get her interested, take what I wanted, you know? Get her out of my system. But this shit ain’t _normal,_ and that’s the other half of the problem. No chick’s ever had me this messed up before- or messed up at all, really.” Opie’s glaring at him again. Goddammit, he can’t win today.  
  
“Don’t _ever_ mention Tara and the words ‘take what I wanted’ or ‘get her out of my system’ in the same sentence again.” Opie’s menacing glare distracts him, momentarily, from his train of thought- clearly Ope hadn’t been listening to the rest of his tirade. “I’m serious, you treat her like some croweater and hurt her, I won’t think twice before I kick your sorry ass.”  
  
“Goddammit, Ope, I already told you it’s not like that.”  
  
“What the fuck is it _like_ , then? This shit ain’t normal for you, I get that; and even though you won’t admit it, I know you like her. But Jesus Christ, this is _you_ we’re talkin’ about here. The _Prince_ of love ‘em and leave ‘em, except you don’t really _love_ any of ‘em.” Jax nods, begrudgingly.   
  
“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t give a shit about any of them, never have. Hell, I don’t even let them kiss me, before… well, I just can’t stand it- that’s how _nothing_ they are to me. But that’s all I can think about with Tara- touching her, kissing her, _protecting_ her... As fucked up as it is, that’s the truth.” Opie’s face slackens as Jax watches yet another line of questions form behind his eyes. Great.

“Christ, do you… do you _love_ her? Is…” Opie can’t seem to finish his question; he just waits for an answer Jax can’t give him. Jax looks away for a long minute before speaking, softly this time.  
  
“It doesn’t matter- even if I did, there’s no way I’m gonna mess with our friendship.” Jax runs his hand through his hair. “Christ, we just got her back. I make one move on her, she’s gonna go running to David Hale faster than we can blink. I _need_ her Ope, you’ve always known that, but I can’t let _wanting_ her fuck that up.” Defeated, Jax slumps back down on the truck, while Opie shakes his head for what seems like the hundredth time during this conversation. 

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?“ Jax narrows his eyes. Great, now he’s getting insulted. “You don’t think she knows what you’re doing? Why do you think she just called you on your bullshit with the Pussy Patrol? Why do you think she’s tweaking on you about Melissa? She ain’t stupid- and neither am I- but you and I both know that if _I_ can see through you, _she_ definitely can by now.” Shit, that’s pretty much what JT had told him. “If you don’t get your shit together, you won’t have to worry about some smooth move sending her running to Hale. She’ll already _be_ there, and he’ll be more than willing to pick up your slack. Him or any one of the dozens of guys in this school that see her for what she is.”  
  
“So you’re saying it’s hopeless- I’m gonna lose her no matter which way you look at it. I’m either gonna do what I always do and she’ll get freaked out and take off, or I’ll do nothing and she’ll take up with some other prick?” For the hundredth time in the past week, he acknowledges to himself that he’s an asshole. He can’t have her- he doesn’t deserve her- but he doesn’t want anyone _else_ to have her, either.  Even more importantly, he doesn’t want anything to push away the best friend he’d just gotten back.   
  
“Jesus Christ, Jax. If you think _those_ are the only two options, this really _is_ hopeless.” Opie shakes his head in disgust and tosses him his backpack. “We better get to class.”

 

By the time Jax and Opie enter first period, Tara’s already sitting up front next to Hale; this time, in addition to his typical flash of rage, Jax also feels like he’s been punched in the gut. From the looks of Opie, that’s still a possibility.

“Don’t even think about it, bro. Leave her be,” Opie hisses as he shoulders Jax towards a seat in the back row. Jax tries to slip a quizzical look on his face, but Opie shakes his head. “Don’t bullshit me, not after what you just said in the parking lot. I don’t want her with Hale any more than you do, but your big mouth ain’t gonna solve anything. Not in English class.” Jax sighs and flops down in the seat next to Opie, forced to content himself with staring holes into Hale’s back and staring at Tara, in general. To his relief, they don’t seem to be particularly close. At least, until Hale passes Tara a folded piece of paper, which she reads and tucks into her book, shooting him a smile. Jax is aware of the sheer fucking hypocrisy that has him digging his nails into his palm over a note when he himself was the recipient of more than one no-strings-attached blow jobs just last weekend. He’s more than aware, there’s just not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

* * *

Jax spends the rest of the day as a self-imposed model of restraint, though the fact that Opie is watching him like a hawk probably helps. Tara had spent her lunch period under the tree with them as if nothing had happened, and Jax basked in her presence, relieved that neither the subject of that weekend’s party or Hale had come up. In Foods class, the three of them had spent the period attempting to produce an omelet- resulting in a mess of egg shell shards from Jax, a heap of scrambled eggs from a frustrated Tara, and a perfectly browned creation from Opie, who had silently watched his friends struggle with a smirk.

“What, you think _Piney_ can fucking cook?” he’d scoffed when Jax and Tara had stared incredulously at his final product. The three of them dissolved into laughter and it was almost, _almost_ as if things had returned to the status quo they’d established such a short time ago but only if Jax overlooks the fact that her laughter and the sheer relief that she was sharing it with him had been nothing short of exhilarating.

As the three of them exit CHS for the final time that week, Jax sighs in relief when he glimpses Stacey’s red Mustang cruising out of the parking lot with Melissa and a few others hanging out the windows, “Party tonight, bitches!” echoing across the lot. At least he doesn’t have to worry about another Pussy Patrol incident like the one on Monday, especially not after this morning. Hell, after that, there’s no fucking _way_ he’s setting foot at that party, not a chance in hell. He briefly wonders if Ope would be willing to make an appearance, make sure Hale behaves himself, before Tara’s voice cuts into his thoughts.   
  
“You guys coming over after the party?” Skeptically, Jax glances at Tara, whose eyes are on the asphalt at her feet.

“What, is Hale planning on cooking us all dinner? I bet he looks adorable in an apron,” Jax sneers. Fuck, but he can’t help himself where that prick is concerned- where _Tara_ is concerned, Opie be damned. She snorts, while Opie surreptitiously elbows Jax in the kidney.   
  
“No. He won’t be there, he told me 8 th period that his dad’s making him go meet with some scout after the game tonight. And before you say anything, the scout’s for Jacob, not for him.” Jax scowls while Opie bursts out laughing.   
  
“Some dipshit is scouting _Jacob Hale_? To play _college_ football? That fatass is barely gonna be able to bend over by the time he graduates, let alone run around on some football f-“  
  
“So we’re you’re backup plan, then? Jesus, I feel real special, Tara.” Jax bursts in, snidely. Tara whirls on him.   
  
“What the hell are you talking about, Jackson? _You_ were invited to that stupid ass party, not me. I only told David I _might_ go with him because I figured you two hornballs would be frothing at the mouth to go check out all the skanks that are more than willing to hang all over you at school. I _told_ you earlier that I’d probably stay home and that you guys should come over afterward, didn’t I? So _excuse_ me if I didn’t make you feel _special_ enough, Your Majesty.” She stalks toward the truck, leaving Opie to grumble at Jax.   
  
“What the fuck, man? At this rate I’m not gonna have to kick your ass, she’ll do it for me. Just get in the goddamn truck and let me handle this.”  
  
Tara’s already in the middle of the bench seat, arms folded, looking determinedly out the windshield, when Opie and Jax climb in.   
  
“Tara. We’re not going to that “stupid ass party”, as you call it. Like I said this morning, it’s usually lame as hell, not our scene. Besides, the Prince’s royal celebration is tomorrow and we’ve both gotta be home by ten. It’s almost a given that Gemma’ll have everyone up and working their asses off at the crack of dawn with all the other charters rolling in. We were gonna see if you wanted to catch a ride over to T-M with us tomorrow, so you can catch up with Gemma and see Jax get his bike.” Jax has to hand it to Ope- there’s a reason he’s had girlfriend after girlfriend over the past couple years. While Jax can smooth-talk pretty much any girl into bed with him, Opie excels at female fucking _logic-_ that and persuading a girl to keep giving him a shot even after he’d pissed them off. Jax can’t count on one hand the number of girls that had stormed off with Opie in their wake, only to be seen fawning all over him later that day; his own track record wasn’t so great- not that he particularly cared if a chick was mad at him. For her part, though, Tara looks to be mostly placated.   
  
“I guess… you don’t think it’ll be weird for me to be there with all those… _members_? I mean, I _know_ Bobby, Piney and JT. And you guys. And I guess the guys I met the other day seemed OK with me being there, but…’  
  
“Naw,” Opie waves a hand before starting the truck, “besides, there’ll be a few high school kids there, too.” Tara glances at Jax, uncertainly.

“You’re sure, Jackson? It’s your party.” _Shit. Just don’t be an idiot_. His hand darts out to squeeze hers, and he’s floored to catch a glimpse of a flush, rushing upwards from her exposed upper chest to her smooth neck and on up each cheek.

“Of course I’m sure. I want you to be there, Tara.” _More than anything…_

Opie eases the truck into park in front of his own house just as Piney’s heaving the garage door open. His back is to them as they hop out of the truck and head up the driveway until he seats himself on the bike and spots them. He gives Jax a curt nod as he prepares to fire up the bike, until he notices Tara behind the boys and practically lights up as he swings his leg off the bike and stalks over to enfold her in a bear hug.   
  
“Good to have you back, little girl.” As they part, Tara flashes him her brilliant smile.   
  
“It’s good to be back, Mr. Winston.”   
  
“These boys bein’ gentlemen? Takin’ good care a’ ya?” Opie pokes Jax in the back at this. _Dick._  
  
“Always.” Tara directs a fond gaze at the two of them, to Jax’s surprise. Piney nods his approval; then, seeming to remember something, his face darkens.   
  
“What about your old man? He behavin’?” Tara’s face falls momentarily, until she catches herself and affixes a smile that Jax knows without a doubt is fake.   
  
“He’s fine. Not around much, but fine. He picked up a route out of town this weekend. Extra money, you know?” Piney seems unconvinced and squeezes her shoulder; Tara lowers her head.  
  
“Well, you need anything, Opie and I are right here, you know that. Make sure you tell me if he ain’t- well… If things ain’t right, you come to me, you hear?” Jesus. Is Rick _that_ big a prick, still? Piney’s looking murderous, which Jax has to admit isn’t a huge change from his normal expression, but he’s still laying it on pretty thick. Tara’s nodding and leaning in to hug Piney again but when he releases her, her eyes immediately find the ground. “You two shitheads behave. Be in by ten, ten-thirty tonight, tomorrow’s gonna be a long-ass day according to Gemma. We’ll be done with this club shit way before then, so your ass better be in this goddamn house like I said.” This last bit is directed at Opie, but all three of them are nodding along like bobbleheads as Piney swings his leg over his bike and roars off.  
  
They all  head inside the Winston house together- Jax and Tara to raid the fridge and Opie to his room to retrieve his stash. Jax loads an extra grocery bag with several beers while Tara snags a bag of chips, several small bags of gummies, a couple Snickers, and some microwave popcorn.   
  
“My, uh, dad hasn’t had a lot of time to go grocery shopping this week. We should probably order a pizza or something.” Tara says, almost too casually. She’d had some pretty random bullshit for lunch the first couple days of school this week before her account was set up, Jax recalls. He wonders how the hell Tara’s going to get groceries herself with her old man out of town all weekend, and makes a note to mention a quick store run to Opie later.   
  
“Joey’s has some pretty badass pizza, remember? Gemma knows the owner, I’m sure I can score us a couple freebies.” Opie comes lumbering down the back stairs with the weed and they haul their cargo over to Tara’s- Piney’s getting back in a matter of a couple hours while Tara’s dad’s out of town, and Jax is always in favor of hanging where the parents aren’t.

Tara had been right- her father’s house is nearly exactly like it was the last time he’d seen the inside of it. In fact, the only indication it’s now inhabited by a teenage girl instead of a third grader are the textbooks on the kitchen table and the Docs next to the door. The rest of the house is basically a memorial to what had been, over seven years ago; photos of Rick, Grace and a gap-toothed Tara line the hallway. Grace’s work schedule and a crayon drawing by Tara adorn the refrigerator. In the living room, a parenting book with a bookmark in it rests on a side table. Jax briefly wonders how healthy it is to keep the whole goddamn house as a shrine to a life that no longer exists, then remembers that his own house contains Tommy’s room, untouched for the past year.

They settle comfortably onto the floral couch in the living room, arranging snacks and drinks on the chipped coffee table.

“What movie should we watch?” Tara glumly peruses the limited VHS collection, offering up several options that were clearly Rick Knowles selections; all are firmly vetoed by the two boys.

“Wait!”  Opie seems to have a revelation and darts back through the kitchen and out the side door, tossing an “I’ll be right back” over one shoulder before slamming it behind him. Alone with Tara for the first time in days, Jax suddenly can’t think of anything to do with his hands, while Tara returns to the couch next to him, abandoning her movie search. _Shit_. _Say something, Teller._

 

“Your dad gone all weekend?” _Lame._   
  
“Yeah, I guess he takes these runs up to Oregon sometimes, for the extra money.” She picks at some lint on her jeans. “I don’t mind, really, he’s out most nights anyway.” Of course he is. Piney’d been pretty concerned about her wellbeing, and Jax is starting to wonder if he should be, too. He hesitates a moment before broaching the subject that’s been on his mind since they’d left the Winston house.  
  
“Your old man… he hits up the bars pretty regular, huh?” Tara stays silent, but nods, focusing even more intently on her jeans. “He OK when he gets home? I mean, he treats you OK and everything?” She doesn’t raise her eyes, but nods again. Why won’t she look at him? “Tara.” Her head snaps up, eyes locked on his.

“Yeah, he’s OK. I’m in bed before he gets home and he’s still asleep when I get ready for school in the morning. I barely know he’s here.” Satisfied that she’s being honest, for now, he nods back as Opie bursts through the door again.   
  
“Both Terminator movies, _and_ Jurassic Park,” he crows, triumphantly. “But let’s smoke up first and order some pizza. We can still watch all three if we start now.” Opie expertly rolls a joint while Jax excuses himself to use the kitchen phone. He negotiates with Joey and scores them two free one-toppings and a bottle of Coke. By the time they’ve caught a good high and the pizza’s arrived, they’re watching the gates to Jurassic Park roll open and making snide comments about the special effects; Jax again lets the familiarity and comfort wash over him as he briefly wonders what he’d be doing if Tara hadn’t returned to his life- probably smoking up with Ope, most likely. They probably _would_ have hit up that party, despite what Opie told Tara, but Jax figures he still would have ended the night in a back room at the clubhouse with a croweater’s mouth on his dick. He steals a glance at Tara- animatedly engrossed in both the movie and in friendly banter with Opie- and doesn’t have to think twice about which option is better. Her hair’s in a high ponytail today, which brings her slender throat and high cheekbones into view, but he wishes he could tug it free and run his fingers through it like he had the night he walked her home.

Somewhere between the helicopter escape from Jurassic Island and when Arnold Schwarzenegger arrives in 1984, Tara excuses herself to change. When she reappears in a pair of soft gym shorts and a black tank top, Jax loses his hour-long battle against his burgeoning hard-on. _Jesus Christ._ He’s newly convinced that she hasn’t noticed him practically clenching his fists to prevent himself from reaching out and touching her all week, or she wouldn’t have worn a tank top that hugs her chest so perfectly. The extra expanse of leg he’s treated to as she rests her feet on the coffee table doesn’t help matters. He tries to be discreet as he shifts a couch pillow onto his lap and makes the mistake of looking at Opie as he drags his eyes away from Tara. Ope’s eyes are narrowed but he’s also trying not to laugh, which Jax ignores in favor of turning his attention to the movie.

Nearly three hours, most of a second Terminator movie and several beers later, Jax is sitting with his own socked feet on the coffee table and considering, for the first time in months, heading back to the bathroom to relieve the tension by himself. He hasn’t had to do that while in the same building as a girl since he’d found his routine with the croweaters. He’s convinced himself to get up and subsequently talked himself out of it at least five times when he feels a weight pressing against his shoulder. Tara’s slim body is leaned up against him, legs pulled up, her feet resting against Opie’s leg. He’s staring at her ponytail slipping against his t-shirt when she slowly raises her eyes to his. _Jesus._  
  
“Is this OK? I just can’t get comfortable.” It’s on the tip of his tongue what a stupid question that is when she turns back towards the TV and rests her cheek against his shoulder. He closes his eyes for a moment, then dares a glance at Opie, who is now definitely trying his best not to laugh. The laughter stops when Jax shifts so his arm rests around Tara’s shoulders, her cheek now pressing against his chest. He doesn’t even notice Opie’s expression this time- in fact, the whole fucking world narrows, until all he can see is Tara’s raven hair pooled near his chest, all he can feel is the warmth of her body against his, all he can smell is her shampoo and something sweet that he’s learned is uniquely her. For the first time, this all consuming, all-out assault on his senses doesn’t scare the shit out of him; he revels in the overload, lets it take over and wear away the wall he’s constructed over the past few days. As it crumbles, he indulges in the fantasy that she’s his girl, that he can do this whenever he wants, hold her whenever he wants, kiss her whenever he wants. He’s a guy that’s had almost every fuck fantasy he’s ever had fulfilled, save one, but he sure as shit knows that _this_ is a brand new one.

At some point, he must have dozed off because he wakes to a black TV screen and Ope poking his shoulder. _Shit, what time is it?_

“Pop’s home, I’m gonna get over there before he loses his shit. You crashin' at my place?” Jax nods. “A’ight. You better wake up Sleeping Beauty over here and get your ass in gear, too.” Jax looks blearily down his body to see Tara, dead to the world, her hand on his chest and a faint smile on her face. His chest aches with… _something_ , as Opie glances back and forth between them, a pensive look crossing his face. He gestures to the two of them. “I’ll see ya… _in five minutes_ , man. Remember what I said.” Gathering his movies, he heads for the door, giving Jax one last inscrutable look before closing it behind him. _Right_. Jax is left to wake Tara, even though the last goddamn thing he wants to do is move his arm from around her, put an end to the most perfect hour he’s ever spent. He considers just leaning his head back and staying put, spending the night with his arm wrapped around the only person who’s ever blown him away; Gemma’s orders call, however, and he’s pretty sure Opie would be back over here before the clock hit 10:45 to tell him exactly what he thought of him spending the night.

Reluctantly, he strokes Tara’s shoulder, pushes a few stray hairs from her forehead. Murmuring, she shifts a bit, but doesn’t open her eyes, the faint smile widening as she burrows her cheek into his chest. _Christ, Tara…_  
  
“Tara.” She shifts again, and stills once more before he repeats “ _Tara_.” This time, her eyelids drift open and her green eyes lazily peer into his. “It’s late, I gotta go, darlin’.” Shit. Of fucking _course_ he slips up and calls her darlin’. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, as she continues to gaze at him. Jax wonders if she’s even really awake until the hand that had been on his chest drifts up and rests on his cheek. It takes everything in him not to lean into her touch, which she maintains until her warm hand slowly strokes his jaw, turning his head, running upward towards the back of his neck… and then she drops her hand, blushing furiously, and blinks her eyes a few times, hard.   
  
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I was dreaming about… “ Her eyes fall closed again with an “mmmm” before she can reveal what she’d been dreaming of and she sits up, reluctantly. The side of his body she’d been pressed against immediately feels cold, her absence like a dash of frigid water. If there’s something worse than not having her at his side, he thinks, its having her there and then feeling her leave it.   
  
“Sorry for what?” He knows it’s basically a rhetorical question, the “what” looming like the elephant that’s now in the room. Tara shoots him a look and tightens her ponytail, then begins to gather the empty beer cans.   
  
“Sorry, I was sort of half awake there, and I totally didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”   
  
“Aw, you’re fine, there’s only a _little_ bit of drool on my shirt,” Jax jokes, hoping to ease some of the tension that’s slowly thickening the air in the room. It doesn’t work- she won’t meet his eyes all of a sudden, and he hoists himself off the couch and begins to help her. Silently, they pick up cans, chip bags, and the pizza boxes. Tara tosses the bags in the trash, and motions for Jax to follow her out the side door to the large trash and recycling cans outside. They sort the empty boxes and cans and Jax pretends not to notice that the recycling container is half full of empty plastic whiskey bottles. Her old man drinks more than she lets on, then, but Jax is hoping she’s telling the truth about how he’s treating her. He makes a mental note to talk to Ope about this, and then realizes she’s waiting by the back door, expectantly. “I guess I should go in; sounds like we’ll have to be up pretty early.” She seems almost nervous, standing there by her own back door, the red notes in her thick hair highlighted by the porch light shining above; her eyes search his own much as they had earlier when she’d awoken on his chest, but now that she’s fully awake they seem almost impossibly wide and clear, emerald green. _God, she’s beautiful_.

Jax takes a slow, deep breath, and lets it out even more slowly, hoping she doesn’t notice how shaky it is. He tries, once again, to sound casual. “Yeah, why don’t you meet up with us over at Ope’s tomorrow morning? Come at seven, maybe Ope can teach you how to make a damn omelet.” _Finally,_ she breaks out in a smile, and he feels a smug sense of pride for making her do so.   
  
“Alright, Jackson. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” Tara puts her hand on the doorknob behind her and all of his smugness rushes right back out. He’s not saying goodbye for any prolonged period of time- he’ll see her in a matter of hours. But something about this makes him feel like he’s running out of time- maybe it’s the conversation he’d had with Ope, maybe its that even as she’s talking to him, she’s already twisting the knob and starting to move away from him. As the thoughts that have been haunting him all week begin to swirl- _she doesn’t need this, she’s your best friend, she deserves friendship and not some guy chasing after her, this is_ Tara, _she deserves better than someone who uses girls-_ what Opie said this morning surfaces from the twisting whirlpool in his head; _If you don’t get your shit together, you won’t have to worry about some smooth move sending her running to Hale. She’ll already be there, and he’ll be more than willing to pick up your slack._

He still isn’t sure whether his friend was trying to warn him off or tell him to get his ass in gear, but Opie will get over it either way. What’s actually fucking terrifying is the thought of scaring her off, ruining their newly-rekindled friendship; because while he’s been worried all week about what she needs, _he’s_ sure as shit the one that needs _her_. The reduction in size of the aching hole in his chest over the past few days since she’d returned is proof positive. Is he willing to risk it- her friendship, his _sanity_ \- for the chance to do what’s been on his mind for days? He takes a step forward and Tara’s hand pauses on the doorknob but her eyes are steadfast, holding his own. Another step, and her hand drops to her side- he can see her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly. Jax closes the final few steps all at once, as all worry, all thoughts but those of _her_ flee his mind.

His hands reach Tara first, one on each side of her face, cupping the sides of her chin and cheekbones much as she’d done to him only ten minutes before. A thumb stretches out to stroke her cheek, a pinky rests on her pulse point and the rapidly increasing pace tapping crazily against his finger matches his own. He has a fleeting thought that this can’t be good for his heart- someone with his family’s flaw should probably not be feeling as if his heart could beat right out of his chest at any moment- and then Tara’s eyelids flutter closed and she leans into his touch. Just like that, he’s a goner; every thought in his head, every cell in his body rushes forward to propel him into what’s no longer even a decision but a foregone conclusion. As his mouth closes in on hers she takes in a shaky breath, her lips part ever so slightly and then he’s pressing his mouth against hers.

If he’d thought their previous, bodily touches were electric, he’s got no way to describe the jolt that knifes through him the moment their lips touch. Tara instantly shivers as he pulls back for a moment, his eyes searching hers for any indication that she’s horrified one of her best friends in the world is suddenly kissing her. He finds none, her eyes having darkened to a near forest green and glazed over with need. When he’s still for a moment, his forehead inches from hers and both of them breathing like they’d just run a mile, she reaches up to tunnel her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and slowly, _slowly_ pull him towards her again.   
  
This kiss is even more devastating than the first- both are bolder, more sure of themselves, and Jax tentatively runs his tongue at the seam of Tara’s lips, eliciting a small ‘oh!’ and parting her lips just enough. He slides his tongue just inside her mouth to find hers, tangling together when they meet. His hand- moving of its own volition at this point, since he can think of little else than rubbing his tongue against hers, over her silky inner lips, plucking strings of shallow kisses against the velvety bow of her upper lip- leaves her jaw to find her ponytail and tug the elastic free, loosening the dark waves of hair around her face. Almost immediately, his other hand joins the first and he familiarizes himself again with the silky feel of her hair as it streams through his fingertips, over and over. He’s lost, utterly lost, in sensation as Tara presses kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple before twisting her fingers in his hair to pull his mouth to hers once again. Her back is pressed against the door and Jax wants nothing more than to press his hips against hers to dull the ache in the hard-on he’s had for a good hour and a half- he contents himself with running a hand down her back and pressing her chest against his own.   
  
He’s kissing her heedlessly- moving from her mouth to her jawline, to her neck, lightly sucking on a spot before soothing it with his tongue- when she moans in his ear, which he’s immediately convinced is the sexiest sound on planet Earth. It also serves both to swell his cock to previously unheard of levels and press almost painfully against his fly, and to jolt him back into the real world. _Shit. Opie._ Ope will be marching back over here any minute, and while he’s not sure he cares what his friend thinks of what’s been the best five minutes of his life so far, he doesn’t need to try to explain himself in front of Tara.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her neck, dropping one more kiss on her lips and marveling at how plump and kiss-swollen they are before resting his forehead on hers. His lips a breath away from her own, he whispers “I’d better go” and watches as disappointment and pure, unadulterated lust swirl in Tara’s dark green eyes. He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t want to chance ruining any of this with one of the hundreds of stupid-ass things that could come out of his mouth if he opens it to do anything but kiss her, so he gives in to the other half of his brain- the physical half- and tells her how he feels with one more hot, wet, stroking kiss before biting her lower lip lightly, tugging on it as he backs away. He reaches down to squeeze her hand and draw it up to press to his lips before mumbling against the back of it, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Even though it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do, he releases her hand and turns to jog up the sidewalk to the driveway. He doesn’t turn back to look at her- he wants at least one night to revel in the fact that he’d finally kissed and held her. One night to marvel that it was everything he’d imagined (and more) before he finds out if he’s irreversibly fucked everything up. He pushes that thought from his mind as he heads to the Winston bathroom to change and finally give his aching dick the attention it needs, but he spends the rest of the night on the couch imagining her touching a hand to her lips and smiling before going to bed and dreaming of him.


	11. Chapter 11

Tara’s room was dark, moonlight filtering in through the blinds as she stared at the empty suitcase and duffel bag on the floor next to her walk-in closet. Cast-off clothing that had fit third-grade Tara but had been left behind in the wake of her sudden move to San Diego lay in a dreary heap nearby. One thing she’d never done while staying with her aunt was adopt the SoCal style of dress; she’d preferred jean shorts, t-shirts and the occasional overshirt since she was a kid, and Converse were better for riding bikes than the super low cuts and espadrilles the rest of her classmates had worn. In junior high and high school, she’d similarly never adopted the bold, color blocked outfits or the feminine florals preferred by the other girls at school. They just weren’t her. She’d given up her parents, her hometown, her two best friends, and her bike and had adopted a lifestyle better suited to Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano than Tara Knowles, but her one last holdout was her collection of concert T’s and Chucks.

_Liam hadn’t been crazy about her style, Tara recalled. Like most of his friends in the “prep” group, he’d spent most of the year dating girls who wore flowing, spaghetti-strapped slip dresses or tastefully revealing crop tops, and he’d once fingered the hem of her Allman Brothers shirt and asked why such a beautiful girl would want to dress like a 12-year-old boy. She’d been taken aback- she’d actually felt a little uncomfortable with just how fitted the shirt was since it had been her mom’s, who was a full cup size smaller than Tara- but had chosen to focus on the “beautiful girl” portion of his comment._

_He’d kissed her at Kelly Williams’ party later that night - a warm, wet, breathy encounter fueled by the vodka and lemonade he’d snagged them from Kelly’s parents wet bar. They’d been sharing a chaise by the pool, elbows touching and watching the others play chicken and splash around in the water, when a ball had bounced out of the pool and onto the deck, rolling past their feet and just behind the pool shed. She’d hopped up to retrieve it and had turned around and bumped directly into Liam, who’d taken the ball from her and tossed it casually to one of the waiting swimmers, eyes never leaving hers. She still thought about his dark hair and warm brown eyes, sometimes, though the kisses they’d shared that night had been their first and last._  
  
Even more than his eyes, however, she’d thought about the way her breath had seemed to vanish as he’d taken her by the shoulders and guided her to the corner between the pool shed and the high wooden fence. She’d been sure she was breathing pure carbon dioxide as he’d angled his head, lowered his lips to her own and pressed them with several soft, wet kisses. They’d both been panting as he backed her into the shed wall and held her against it with his hips, gently rocking into her once, twice-  until the local PD had arrived on the pool deck and warned everyone to leave or receive a minor in possession ticket. They’d taken off with everyone else and the moment had passed. 

_Tara hadn’t kissed many boys, and none of those brief explorations had come anywhere close to the sheer, aching longing she’d felt centered in her body that night with Liam. Wrapping herself around her body pillow, sheets tangled at her feet, she wished he’d gotten up the courage to kiss her earlier in the year, before her aunt had gotten sick. She didn’t miss him- at least not in the way she’d missed Jax and Opie while she was in San Diego-  she didn’t love him, but she regretted not knowing what would have come next._

_Tap…. Tap Tap…Tap……Tap_

_There were a series of pings in the general vicinity of her window, and she threw her legs over the edge of her bed to pad softly across the room and peek outside._ What the hell? _There, backpack in hand, slightly out of breath, was Liam- dark hair shining under the streetlight. He let the handful of gravel he’d been using to call her attention filter through his fingers as he smiled up at her. Holy shit. What was he doing here? That’s at least an 8-hour drive. She smiled back, carefully measuring the degree of excitement she showed him, but held up a finger._ Just wait _. Briefly checking her reflection in the mirror, she noted that her hair was actually the perfect, tousled state of bedhead she’d never before managed to achieve. Pleased with herself for once, Tara bounded down the stairs with a speed she would’ve been embarrassed to show him a moment ago, and paused at the back door to draw a calming breath before she opened it._  
  
He was standing under the porch light, even more beautiful than she remembered. Except… she’d remembered him being a bit shorter, his eyes even with her own instead of peering down at her. His eyes, for that matter, had been a warm brown, but they almost looked sky blue under the porch light. As he dipped his head to kiss her and she tangled her fingers in his tousled blonde hair she succumbed to the pure sensation of being close to him, kissing _him. After several long moments, he pulled back to look into her eyes, his dark blue SAMCRO hoodie putting his chiseled face in sharp relief. His lips ghosting against her own, he whispered “I missed you, darlin’”._  
  
She reached up with a palm to stroke his jawline, caressing the sharp lines that were so different from the softer, smoother edges of the last boy she’d kissed. “I missed you too, Jackson.”    
  
“Tara…”

“Tara.” Christ, how many times had he said her name? She’s pretty sure she’s still dreaming, though, because her head is burrowed into Jackson Teller’s chest and his arm is around her, his hand stroking her bare shoulder. _How the hell did this happen? What happened to the Terminator?_ Slowly, she lifts her eyes to search his- damn, she hopes he isn’t annoyed. _How long have I been sleeping on him?_ She doesn’t think he’s upset, though the expression on his face is not at all what she expected. Again, she wonders if she’s still dreaming, because she swears she sees the same hunger in Jackson’s eyes as she had in her dream. Or had it been Liam? Tentatively, she raises a hand to cup his jaw, like dream Tara had moments ago; then, sliding her hand upward, she tangles her fingers in the hair at the base of his scalp. Same long, blond, messy hair, same strong jaw, same striking blue eyes. She’d definitely been thinking of Liam, and then kissing Jackson in her dream. _What the hell?_ She dropped her hand and closed her eyes, again.  
  
“I’m sorry, Jackson, I was dreaming about…” she trailed off, blearily, and in the midst of a contented “mmmm”, realized with horror that while it was true she’d been dreaming of Jackson, she’s now fully awake and had just practically caressed him on her dad’s couch. _Fuck._ Sitting up, she scans the room for something, _anything_ , to do. _Right_. Get rid of the cans and junk food trash, kill two birds with one stone. She’s pretty sure her dad’s not going to set foot in the house all weekend, but better safe than sorry- she’d been home long enough to learn that Rick didn’t like visitors.     
  
Tara’s vaguely aware of herself attempting to explain away the position she’d found herself in on the couch, of Jackson making an awkward joke, but she’s too busy trying not to reveal that she’s practically dying of embarrassment on the inside to acknowledge it. There’s no way she’s letting him know exactly how good it had felt to rest her cheek against him or how right it had felt to wake up with his arm wrapped around her. Earlier, she’d rationalized the position to herself- that her feet had been touching Opie, that it was no more intimate than when Jackson had thrown his arm around her shoulder, hugged her, held her hand on the walk home Monday night. It would have worked, except she’d spent the entirety of the aforementioned encounters with her heart in her throat. Jesus, she’d hardly been able to touch him since her return without simultaneously experiencing both heat and shivers. The couch had gotten so uncomfortable with the three of them crowded onto it, though, and by the time she’d shifted against him, she’d gone too far. Best to stay casual and hope that he just went along with it. Go along with it he had; he’d slid his arm around her, sending her heart hammering against her chest and her thoughts racing. She’s surprised she’d fallen asleep, actually, as wired as his arm around her shoulder had her.

Tara had been watching him watch her all week; she’d assumed he was angry with her at first- had expected it even- but their talk Monday evening had been both eye-opening and utterly confusing. He wasn’t angry with her- he didn’t hate her, so then why did he clench his fists when she was near? Why did he his jaw tighten when she touched him? All of those thoughts had been in the back of her mind when they’d reached her house that evening and they were suddenly faced with a very familiar situation- the two of them, in her driveway after a long talk, both of them needing comfort. He’d hugged her and kissed her cheek, sending her pulse rising crazily against him, and when he’d asked her not to leave, his lips centimeters from her own, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. She still isn’t sure if she’d been disappointed or relieved when he’d turned away instead. They’d always been touchy-feely as friends- holding hands or hugging when one of them was struggling or in need of support; as teenagers, doing the same leaves her breathless and tingling and she’s almost certain by now that its having a similar effect on Jackson. It had just taken her a couple days to figure it out.

Her biggest problem, Tara thinks, is his penchant for pursuing a girl and then dropping her like a hot potato once he gets what he wants; David had been all too eager to inform her of Jackson’s shortcomings, to warn her off getting involved with him. She’d scoffed at the time; David had no idea about the nature of the friendship she, Jackson and Opie shared, and she can no more stop herself from being “involved” with them than she can stop herself from breathing. Still, what he’d said niggled in the back of her mind even as she reveled in Jackson’s touch; she doesn’t think he’s is out to use and lose her- the kind, loyal boy she’d known years ago is still there and seems to need her even more than ever. However, she’s sure this fascination, this yearning, this _whatever this is_ between them is probably only there because of some convoluted combination of the emotional fallout from their reunion, the general tumult in both their lives, and some visceral, fully physical reaction to each other. Tara spares herself a small smile- Jackson _is_ without a doubt the most beautiful 16-year-old boy she’s ever met and he certainly has a knack for making _her_ feel beautiful. Even so, their friendship far is too important to her to risk indulging in him any more, even if it’s the most alive she’s felt for a long time. Her smile fading, she motions to Jackson to help her with the boxes and cans and he dutifully follows her outside.

They’re silent as they sort the recycling, leaving Tara with far too much time to continue to overthink the evening’s events _. God, why can’t it all be simple?_ With Liam, she’d had no history, no connection. Talking to him, flirting with him, letting him kiss her… all of that had been easy. She’d known from the start that he’d wanted her, and he’d pursued her like any other sixteen-year-old would have; there’s no way of knowing where it all would have led, but kissing him had been pleasant- heart racing, even- and wholly without hassle. Things with Jackson are pretty much guaranteed to _never_ be simple; even if he never touches her again ( _God, that thought makes her stomach drop more than she’d like_ ), their friendship is full of history, their lives both too affected by the events that had led them here for anything to be easy.

As she meets his gaze and is struck once again with how utterly lost she could get in eyes like his, the need to put distance between them- to avoid the complications and the stress even though what she wants to do more than anything is to sink back into him- emerges and she fumbles for the doorknob. It’s then that his eyes darken, his stance almost turning predatory as he takes a step towards her. It’s only the knowledge that Jackson- _her_ Jackson- would never intentionally hurt her that keeps her from slipping through the door and locking it behind her. Another step, and Tara can barely breathe. Is she going to let this happen? Are _they_ going to let this happen? Her traitorous body makes the decision for her when her hand slips off the doorknob. As if he takes this as a declaration that she’s ready for this, ready for _him_ , he closes the distance between them and reaches out to caress her cheeks with both hands. It’s almost as if she can see the same thoughts swirling in him as his fierce stare meets hers; in some way, its almost comforting to know that this has him just as conflicted as it does her, that the cocksure Jackson Teller the rest of the world sees is just as blown away as she is by this force that’s pulling them together. _That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea_ , her subconscious tells her, right before Jackson pushes away whatever it is that was holding him back and drops his mouth to hers.

 _Shattering_. That’s the only word Tara’s whirling, pleasure-soaked mind can come up with to describe the simple, chaste kiss that’s happening. Except, it’s Jackson that’s kissing her and simple isn’t the half of it. He pulls back, eyes searching hers, and she can see that he doesn’t think the brief, closed-mouth kiss was all that simple either. It’s left her reeling, all thoughts of what _might_ happen fleeing her mind to be replaced by what _is_ happening. Jackson’s kissing her, he’s touching her cheeks, caressing her jaw, and the only other word that comes to mind now is _more._ She threads a hand in his hair and pulls him back to her, effectively telling her subconscious to fuck off.

Almost as if he’s spurred into action by her boldness, Jackson doesn’t keep things chaste this time. His tongue is immediately tracing her lips, running along the seam between them until Tara feels herself whisper a breathy “oh”, granting him entrance to her mouth, which he immediately accepts. He alternates exploring her mouth- tasting her inner cheeks, stroking her tongue, gliding along her teeth- with plucking kisses against her lips; briefly, it occurs to her that there’s a reason he’s this practiced, this good at building a fire inside her that she’s more than willing to let him keep stoking until she’s ready to let him put it out… but then he’s loosening her ponytail to run his fingers through her hair and something inside her seems to crack open, the warmth incited by his kisses and his touches drizzling down the very middle of her until she wants nothing more than to press herself against him. He seems to sense this and guides her chest against his own, but that doesn’t ease the ache that’s set up residence below. As the seconds tick by, Tara can’t seem to stop her lips from roaming, tasting the places her hands had touched minutes ago- his cheek, his jaw, his temple- and he responds by burying his face in the crook of her neck and bestowing a sucking kiss onto it, followed by the tip of his tongue. A moan escapes her lips before she realizes what’s happening, and she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed anymore-can’t bother to think about tomorrow, her dad, Opie- everything ceases to matter but the boy who’s just proven himself to be the only one who can make her forget.

With this revelation, Jackson stills, draws back, seems to come to his senses. _No, no, no…_ “I’d better go”, he whispers, and a tiny hole forms in the bubble of content that’s surrounded them since he first kissed her. _God_ , she never wants this moment to end; once it does, she knows all the worries, all the what-ifs will come rushing back. As if he senses this, he extracts another urgent kiss from her lips and she’s momentarily reassured that this is good- this is _right_. He doesn’t seem to want to let her go, either, she realizes, as he reluctantly ends the kiss, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and increasing the ache inside her further still. She didn’t think that was possible. He takes his leave, but not before raising her hand to his lips and pressing one last kiss to her knuckles. If anything, that’s the moment that cements it- this isn’t just some random makeout session to him, to either of them. It’s that thought that keeps her from flagging under the weight of what’s just happened, the implications that came rushing back the moment he’d turned and headed up her driveway.

Slipping through her back door and locking it behind her, Tara wanders aimlessly around the house: straightening pillows, picking at imaginary flecks of chips on the coffee table, straightening the shoes beside the door. Finally, after flicking off the lights in the living room and kitchen, she’s unable to stall any more; she climbs the stairs to her room, barely noticing the state of chaos it’s been in since she’d started unpacking. Not bothering to wash her face or brush her teeth as she usually would, Tara eases herself onto her bed, thinking for the first time since waking from her dream, about Liam. Back then, she’d wanted to know what came next; what happened once two people were so immersed in each other that their bodies just couldn’t get close enough? She and Jackson hadn’t even gotten that far- his hips had stayed a safe distance from her own- but somehow, this need to mold her body to his, to learn about what she didn’t even know she’d wanted, had been almost inescapable. She knows all about sex, of course, from health class, but she’d been naïve as to how people got there. Before now, she’d imagined it as a little awkward- moving from kissing to the removal of clothing, to the eventual act itself. But tonight… tonight she’d seen how easy it was to lose herself in the moment, to almost seamlessly flow from touching to kissing to whatever her body wanted next. Frankly, she thinks, it’s a little fucking scary- scary how easy it would be to give in and lose herself in him.  
  
 Groaning, Tara rolls over and wraps herself around her pillow, just as she had in the dream that had started it all. It isn’t enough, of course, the soft pillow completely inadequate compared to the tall, hard form of Jackson Teller, and she soon returns to her back. The only thing left is the source of the ache that seems to have spread through her body since he left, and Tara tentatively runs a hand down her belly to find it. As her inexperienced fingers slip behind the silk of her panties and press against the center of the sensation that’s been building since she woke up on Jackson’s chest- since he slid into Opie’s truck next to her the first day of school, if she’s being honest- she closes her eyes and lets everything else go. Tomorrow, she’ll have to face him, Opie, Gemma, the Sons. Tomorrow, things with her best friend may change forever. But right now, she smiles and slips easily into a dream about _him_.

* * *

 The pounding on her door startles Tara out of a restless sleep- she’d crashed soon after her head had hit the pillow, but not before reliving almost every moment of her encounter with Jackson. Her overactive brain, so accustomed to analyzing chemistry formulas or biology lab notes, had really put itself to work last night; dreams of him kissing her while caressing her cheek were interrupted by images of him guiding some busty croweater (or Melissa Rourke… or Stacey Wilson… or any of the number of girls she’d been informed had shared his bed) onto his lap. She’d woken up with a start no less than five times, only to begin the cycle again- a rush of pleasure at the memory of Jackson’s mouth on her own, a wave of heat at the thought of his lips on her neck…Then the sobering reminder of the very real possibility that not only was he likely two doors down at Opie’s regretting it (regretting _them_ ) but that she’d lost her best friend and he’d take Opie with him.

 “Tara?” The pounding continues, surrounding a voice she can’t quite place at this early hour, still bleary and not ready to fully apply herself to anything, let alone whatever male is outside her bedroom door. _Shit. Why wasn’t the damn door locked?_ Whoever this is had come all the way up to her fucking bedroom door; with all the seedy looking characters she’d witnessed Rick palling around with in the mere week she’s been back, the last thing she needs to give one of them easy access to the interior of the house.  
  
“Who… who is it?” she calls, frantically searching for the comforter that had, of course, disappeared somewhere during last night’s tossing and turning. She spots it half under the foot of her bed and yanks it up around herself just as the reply comes through the door-  
  
“It’s Ope. Sorry, its just… you didn’t answer the phone or the doorbell, so…” Thanking the powers that be it’s only Opie, Tara vaults out of bed and opens the door to find Opie, his hands in his pockets, regarding her with a curious expression. “Sorry,” he repeats, tilting his head a bit to study her, “I figured you might need a wake-up call though. It’s 6:30, I told Pop you’d be over for breakfast and then we can head to Jax’s.” She’s not sure its possible to feel any more relieved than she does at that moment- one of her late-night worst-case scenarios had involved Opie and Jackson telling her it’d be for the best if she doesn’t make an appearance at the party. Another had been radio silence from the both of them as she dejectedly knocked at Opie’s door only to come face to face with Piney, who told her the boys had already taken off without her.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I sorta forgot to set an alarm last night. Then I didn’t sleep well, I’m usually up by now, actually.” Opie’s instantly amused and leans on the doorframe.

“Any particular reason you found it hard to sleep last night?” _God_ … She doesn’t answer him, but she feels the hot flush creeping up her chest and into her cheeks. _Damn_ her pale skin, there’s no hiding anything when she turns pinker than a strawberry every time she’s embarrassed, nervous, angry, you name it. The occasional parties she’d gone to in San Diego had all ended with her aunt questioning her about her alcohol-flushed chest; one in particular-the one at which Liam had kissed her- had provoked a stern warning against getting caught up in alcohol, weed and boys. “I’m guessing it’s the same reason Jax’s annoying ass was up at the crack of dawn this morning, asking if I thought he should come over here and make sure you were planning on riding with us today.” Tara's pretty sure if her face gets much hotter, it might combust. Tongue-tied by the sheer awkwardness of this conversation, she resorts to a silent plea for Opie to end this conversation. And based on the utter amusement crinkling his eyes, that shit isn’t going to happen. “He didn’t mention what happened last night after I left here and told him to get his ass over to the house, but I’d say it was about fifteen-twenty minutes later he showed up and didn’t say shit to anyone before he racked out on the couch. Had a big stupid smile on his face though. You know anything about that?” Jesus. Tara wishes he’d let this go, but no such luck.  
  
“Opie…” She closes her eyes briefly, and sinks down onto the edge of her bed. “I’m… well, we- last night was a mistake.“  
  
“Jesus Christ, you two’re cut from the same goddamn cloth.” Opie shakes his head and straightens, stepping into her room and folding his arms.  
  
“I don’t know what that means, Opie. I also don’t know what last night meant, really, except a lot of trouble.” He snorts.  
  
“You got _that_ right. You’re trouble. _Jax_ is trouble. And the two a’ you together are a fucking powder keg.”  
  
“Exactly! I mean, we’re not together, but imagine if we were. It’s only a matter of time before Jackson gets bored and moves on, or before I get neurotic and- _what_?” Opie’s eyes are rolling so hard, Tara’s pretty sure he’s trying to get a gander at his brain.  
  
“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s blowing shit up-“ Tara smiles at the memory of an eight-year-old Opie lifting Piney’s stash of Fourth of July fireworks and setting them off in a field outside town as Jackson and Tara applauded. Charming PD and Piney had been in full agreement that none of the three of them were to touch so much as a sparkler until they turned eighteen. “-and the best way to keep a powder keg from blowing is to stop lighting fucking matches. Jax ain’t touched a damn match since you got back here.” It’s Tara’s turn to roll her eyes.  
  
“Now you’re speaking in _metaphors_. Besides, it’s been, what, a whole week? So even if you expect me to believe Jackson’s turned over some new leaf, how long do you think that’ll last?” He’s silent for a minute, fingering the knick knacks lining her vanity top before answering, his back to her.

“It might have been a metaphor, but I meant it, Tara. Jax… ever since Tommy died and JT started letting him hang at the clubhouse… he’s been handling girls the way the members do, you know? Especially over the summer when we were there all the time, it was a different croweater every night almost. Before that, it was girls from school.”  
  
“If you’re trying to convince me of something, you’re not doing a very good job, Ope.” He spun to face her.  
  
“Let me finish. I think it’s become a way for him to deal with all the bullshit, honestly. But he hasn’t touched a girl since you got back. He’s… different. Better.” Tara shakes her head, keeps shaking it as she answers.  
  
“Even if you think I’m some magical cure for some sort of addiction to girls, how do you know it’ll last? The girls won’t let up; we both know that- it’s disgusting how some of them act around him.”

“Yeah, they won’t let up any time soon. But I don’t think you understand how Jax feels about you. Shit, I don’t even think _he_ understands, and hell if _I_ know what’s going through his head half the time. All I know is that he’s been completely fucked up since the first time he saw you on Monday. This shit isn’t normal for him, Tara. I’ve been watching him run through girls for a year now and nobody ever holds his interest longer than a day or two.”  She wrinkles her nose at him. Jesus, this was supposed to make her feel better?

“Again, Ope, if this is supposed to be you pleading Jackson’s case, you got some serious work to do. But as much as I love hearing about all the girls he’s had, can we change the subject? You say he’s ‘fucked up’- what’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I mean that for once in his life, he doesn’t have an answer for whatever is going on in that thick skull of his. There’s no smooth move, no pickup line, no smirk of his that’s gonna turn you into all the other girls. You’re different, and he said as much the other day.” At this, Tara’s blush comes back full-force.  
  
“You… you talked about me? With Jax?” _Jesus Christ_ , how embarrassing. She can’t even look at Opie, so she studies a throw pillow- as if staring at it is going to suddenly end this conversation and put her out of her misery.  
  
“Course. You’re my best friend, Tara, and so is Jax. Obviously, anything that happens with the two of you is shit that’s gonna come up.”  
  
“That’s the other part of the problem. Why last night can’t happen again.” Tara replies, softly, still staring at the pillow and picking at a loose thread. She doesn’t even notice Opie’s moved until the bed dips near her hip. “You’re both my friends and I don’t want anything to change that. I need you guys. Jackson needs _me_ , you said so yourself. I’m not throwing that away a week after I finally get you back just because I like kissing him.” Opie lets out a huff of laughter.  
  
“Well, that’s progress. You’ve admitted you like him.” Tara backhands him lightly in the chest.  
  
“No, I said I like _kissing_ him… shit, that doesn’t sound much better, does it?” Opie can’t answer, he’s too busy cracking up. “Seriously, Opie. I’m not risking the best thing I have in my life on the slight chance that he feels the same way about me…” she trails off, knowing she’s slipped up yet again. _Maybe he didn’t notice…_ All hope is extinguished as Opie stops laughing, tucks a large finger under her chin, and gently lifts her face towards his own.  
  
“You just admitted it, again. That’s why I said the two of you are cut from the same cloth. I’m not the smartest kid in our class, but I’m not stupid, Tara. I’ve been watchin’ the two of you, together and separately, since you got back here. You both got so many feelings goin’ on about the other that you don’t even know what to do with ‘em. And you both have the same goddamn excuse for keepin’ ‘em to yourselves. You ever stop to think about what’s gonna happen to your friendship if you keep on this way? Holdin’ hands, _thinking_ about holdin’ hands, freaking the fuck _out_ about holdin’ hands, gettin’ jealous whenever the other one even talks to someone else… Hell, _I’m_ exhausted by the whole thing and I ain’t even in it. But if you think bottling up this shit ain’t gonna affect your friendship, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.” His eyes bored into hers, imprinting upon her just how serious he was.  
  
“You might be right. But why do you care so much, Opie?” His disbelief is evident as he shakes his head, yet again.  
  
“Why do you think, Tara? You’re my best friends. I want you happy. I don’t spend as much time with you as I do Jax, but I can _tell_ there’s something there; you’re going through the same shit he is. And I’ve never seen him look at _anyone_ the way he looks at you.” Goosebumps prickle her arms as she takes in the utter sincerity in his voice. Opie’s always been an observer, someone who sits back and watches, quietly, until he decides to take action. She has no doubt he’s been watching the two of them dance around each other for the past week; she also has no doubt that this conversation wasn’t happening on a whim, either. If she knows Opie, this shit’s been on his mind for a while. She sighs, reaches out to squeeze his hand briefly before flopping back on her bed. What’s she supposed to say to that? “I’m serious, Tara. You like him, he likes you… the two of you need to t _alk_ , at least. I sure as shit don’t wanna be in the middle of it, but goddamn… _something_ needed to be said. I’m sick of the both of you walking around like mopey assholes.” Tara laughs, turning her eyes up to Opie.  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
“I _do_ say so, actually. Ain’t nobody can tell you how Jax feels except Jax. Well… _maybe_. He’s the Prince of Charming, but the _King_ of bottling up all his damn feelings. I told him the other day- he hurts you and I kick his ass; but shit goes both ways, Tara. You’re a woman, and I ain’t about to kick your ass, but be careful with the guy, OK?” He smiles at her, but what he’s just said hits her with the force of a baseball bat. Opie thinks _Jackson’s_ heart is the one in danger of being broken? Had she heard him right? She’s dying to know just what the two of them have talked about and is trying to think of a way to ask when Opie claps his hands on his thighs and pushes himself off her bed. “Jesus. This isn’t something I’ll miss whenever the two of you work your shit out- uncomfortable relationship talks.”  
  
“Well, you could always have your _own_ …” Tara snarks, as Opie reaches into his shirt pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

“Yup.” Is all he responds before removing a cigarette from the pack and replacing the box in his pocket. “Alright, enough of the sappy shit. You need to get your ass over to the house in the next thirty minutes or so or we won’t have time for breakfast before we leave. We still have to stop at Jax’s so he can change before we head to the clubhouse.” _Right. The clubhouse._ Tara’s not sure if she’s more nervous about facing Jackson over breakfast, or the entirety of the Sons of Anarchy- out of town charters included- tonight at his party. And then there’s his mother. Tara’s head begins to ache; Jackson’s mom has always been pleasant to her, but everyone knows you don’t cross Gemma Teller. When they were in elementary school, she’d been formidable, at best. Now that they’re all in high school and her baby boy was about to turn sixteen, well… Tara doesn’t want to spend a lot of time thinking about it or there’s no way she’s getting up the courage to show up over at Opie’s for a ride. She rises, patting Opie on the arm.  
  
“Okay. Go, I’ll be over in fifteen minutes or so; I need to shower, quick.” Opie eyes her skeptically as she starts sifting through a drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and jean shorts.

 “A shower? You’re gonna miss breakfast.”  
  
“No I won’t. Trust me, I don’t need an extra hour to apply makeup and curl my hair. What you see is what you get.” Opie snickers and shakes his head.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, no chick shit. I’ll believe _that_ when I see it.” He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and fidgets with something in his pocket- likely a lighter, she thinks. She wonders idly when, exactly, smoking had become habit for them. “A’ight. See you in a few.” He lumbers out of her room, closing the door behind him, and Tara lets out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. _Jesus Christ,_ is she the only one who’s unsure about _whatever-this-is_? She has a feeling it’s going to be a long, _long_ day.  



	12. Ch 12

Piney’s standing in front of the open fridge when Jax enters the Winston kitchen, glaring into it as if breakfast is going to suddenly appear before his eyes if he threatens it enough.  
  
“Morning, Piney.” Piney doesn’t move, doesn’t shift his gaze, though the lines in his forehead deepen.   
  
“Where the hell’s Opie? I made some coffee but the boy’s gonna need to do the rest. This cookin’ shit ain’t never been my forte.” Jax chuckles- when Mary first took off, Piney’d done his best, he had to give him that. But it had only taken a couple weeks of watching Ope and Piney sit down to burnt toast, still-frozen bean burritos, and soupy macaroni and cheese for Jax to beg Gemma to suggest that the Winstons stop by the house for dinner a few nights a week. They’d done so reluctantly- Piney wasn’t one to accept charity- and recently had returned to eating at home. Jax hadn’t spent much time thinking about who’d been doing the cooking but apparently Opie had found the time somewhere along the way to learn a few things, as evidenced by his performance in Foods class the other day.

 

“He went over to Tara’s to light a fire under her ass. Thought he’d be back by now, though, he left before I got in the shower.” Jax tries to sound nonchalant talking about her, but he’s finding it more difficult than he should, especially after last night. Piney pulls a package of bacon from the refrigerator and ill-temperedly slaps it onto the counter before elbowing the door shut. Jax sighs and opens a cabinet door to search for a mug. He knows he’s got a short fuse, but when it comes to being an overall moody bastard, nobody beats Piney.   
  
“That better be _all_ he’s doin’, in regards to her ass.” Piney grumbles as he unsheathes the ancient Ka-Bar at his hip and savagely gouges open the package of bacon. _Jesus, old man…_ Jax knows the elder Winston had been fiercely protective of Tara during Rick’s decline and yesterday had only served to demonstrate that that wasn’t about to change; however, Piney had somehow been a non-factor in his constant obsessing about whatever was between he and Tara. Clearly, that’s a mistake.

“Ope isn’t interested in her like that, Piney. He cares about her, probably more than you know, but he’s not gonna make a move on her. Not now, probably not ever.” Jax is struck with the realization that he actually fucking believes it, too. He’d never been the jealous type, hadn’t given a shit about anyone enough to be jealous when they turned their affections elsewhere; it’s looking like that’s off the table when it comes to Tara, however. He’s been nothing but a jealous asshole when it comes to her, to include interactions between her and his other best friend. Now, though- after their conversation yesterday, after listening to Ope tell him he wants both Jax and Tara to be happy- he’s almost certain there’s nothing between them but friendship. That’s a lot more than he can say for himself, though, and he’s fairly sure Piney’s suspicious ass isn’t just wary of Opie. He pours himself a mug of syrupy-looking black coffee as he watches Piney slide the slab of bacon slices into a frying pan with a thunk.   
  
“That goes for you too, shithead.” Piney turns and pins him with a glare as the bacon begins to sizzle. _Saw that one coming._  
  
“Piney, relax. I don’t want to hurt Tara, you know that.” That’s all Jax can say, really. He’s not about to lie to the old man, who’s practically a walking goddamn polygraph machine; Piney’d not been the most present of parents but he has a knack for sensing bullshit and subsequently, Opie gets away with a lot less than he should with an absentee mother and a father who spends most of his time with a bottle of tequila and a club full of bikers. In any case, it’s true he doesn’t _want_ to hurt her, but he can’t promise one or both of them aren’t going to bump up against some shit, not with how things have been going. _Jesus…_ When, exactly, had he started thinking of whatever it is between them as inevitable? Because if he’s not going to lie to Piney, he also can’t say he’s not going to make a move on Tara like he’d just claimed for Opie. He’d spent half the night last night thinking about the whole thing and had reached no conclusion; now, however, he’s realizing he can make no promises to stay away from her. He takes a sip of coffee and almost chokes. “Jesus Christ, is this coffee or diesel fuel?” Piney shakes his head and jabs at the solid brick of bacon with a fork.  
  
“You want gourmet, you’re in the wrong damn place, son.”   
  
“You ain’t lyin', old man.” The back door closes behind Opie as he crosses the kitchen to inspect Piney’s handiwork. “Jesus, Pop. Give me that.” Piney hands over the fork and Opie pokes at the bacon slab until the slices are sizzling side by side in the pan. “You two are hopeless, you know that?” Jax smiles and raises his hands in surrender.  
  
“Hey, I didn’t do anything, blame Piney.” Opie shakes his head, opens the refrigerator and produces a carton of eggs, which he hands to Jax.   
  
“Yeah, no shit you didn’t _do_ anything. Crack these eggs into a bowl, would ya? And keep the shells outta there, I doubt Tara likes her eggs crunchy.” Piney pours himself a mug of coffee and retreats to the table, looking relieved, while Jax retrieves a bowl and does as Opie asked. “A’ight, now stir ‘em up. Grab a fork from the drawer.” A few minutes later, the bacon is browning, filling the kitchen with its fragrance, and Jax is gingerly pushing the egg mixture around in the pan when the back door opens. Even if he hadn’t been aware Tara was due to arrive any minute, he thinks he’d have known it was her purely because of the prickling in the back of his neck he only feels when she’s near. He’d spent a lot of time last night anticipating this first encounter with her after that kiss- the one he can only describe as earth-shattering- and he had planned to be as casual as possible, especially in the presence of Piney and Ope. Its looking like that’s a solid plan, given Piney’s eagle eye watching them from the table; however, what he wants to do more than anything is drop the spatula, pull her into his arms, and relive a couple memories from the night before. To prevent that from happening, he keeps his eyes on the eggs, which are looking relatively crunch-free.   
  
“Oh my God, Piney, you let _Jax_ make our breakfast? Are you trying to get us all killed?” Still facing the stove, Jax smiles; he loves it when she’s a smartass.   
  
“Watch yourself, little girl. Besides, you know I ain’t makin’ any of the calls in this kitchen- that lands on Ope, here. Gripe at him.” Despite his bluster, Piney breaks into the first smile Jax has seen this morning. Of course Tara’s the one to drag it out of him.   
  
“True, Opie, I thought _you_ were the omelet master.” Opie snorts.   
  
“The Prince needs to earn his keep somehow. Can’t just let him ride the couch for free.” Tara approaches the stove and gives Ope a side hug before sliding behind him to bestow the same upon Jax, who freezes instantly, the spatula hovering over the pan of eggs.

“Happy birthday, Jackson,“ she says, softly, leaving her hand on his hip and looking up at him, green eyes wide; it surprises him all over again that her eyes are this striking, this gorgeous without a hint of the black liner and layers of mascara most of the other girls in school wear. He’s no makeup expert- he guesses she could be wearing mascara and he definitely sees a hint of a soft shine on her lips from what he assumes based on scent alone is strawberry chapstick ( _God he wants to kiss it off her_ ) but the fact that she’s this fucking perfect without needing the façade has him nearly speechless. She’s wearing another pair of jean shorts, just short enough to make her legs look impossibly long, and a Soundgarden tank that’s almost Army green and brings out the red notes in her damp hair, not to mention the creaminess of her skin. He’s almost itching to touch her, _somewhere_ , and he may have broken down and done so had she not slipped the hand on his hip slightly into his jeans pocket and dropped a heavy object inside. “A birthday present. But look at it later, you’re about to burn the eggs.”

“Shit.” She’s right, and Jax yanks the pan off the burner as Tara moves to find plates. Christ, he was hoping it would be easier to stay casual, but if this past week’s been anything, it sure hasn’t been easy. Though he supposes he’s learned to function fairly well with a near-constant hard-on. Tara sets the table, the boys dish up, and it isn’t until they’re all eating at the Winston kitchen table that Opie speaks, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen.   
  
“What time are the other charters getting here?” Jax feels a twinge of irritation at his question- Uncle Jury’s crew, SAMDino, maybe even SAMTAZ, Tacoma and some of the others will be rolling into Charming later today to indulge in his birthday bash but he’s still less than enthusiastic at the idea of his party. He’ll be expected to mingle with the members, shake hands, answer fucking questions, listen to how great JT is, and basically pretend to be part of a big happy family. Gemma will, without a doubt, be making enough food to feed an army of bikers and that’s exactly what will show up, in addition to a battalion of old ladies, girlfriends, hangarounds, and kids. Family events with SAMCRO usually wound up being one big barbecue on the lot, with kids on the playground and pool table area, old ladies manning the bar and refilling the food, and members milling around with a beer, comparing bikes and swapping stories. It wasn’t until later in the evening, when all of the kids and most of the old ladies had filtered out, that the croweaters showed up and the real debauchery began. _Jesus._ The thought of Tara witnessing the Sons’ typical late-evening activities isn’t a pleasant one, and he almost shudders in response; he has to make sure she’s out of there before things get too crazy.

“Four or so, according to Gemma, but you know Jury. That shithead’ll show up at six just in time to eat like he always does.” Piney stands, hefting his empty plate in a large hand. “Come on, it’s after eight and Gemma’ll be having a conniption.” He deposits his plate in the half-full sink and ambles towards the garage door. “You three stop by Jax’s so he can change, but make it quick. Get to the clubhouse ASAP.” With that, Piney slams the garage door behind him and Jax can hear him roll the exterior door up and drive away as the three of them clear the table. He’s not looking forward to most aspects of his party, and he’s sure as hell going to have to figure out a way to keep Tara away from the madness that is the Clubhouse after dark, but the thought of her presence as he receives his bike has him determined to put up with whatever other bullshit comes his way today.   
  
Opie parks the truck in Jax’s driveway and the three of them eye the darkened windows, Jax with relief. Gemma must already be at the clubhouse; she’s got to be pissed, he hadn’t checked in with either of his parents since before school yesterday. Jax knows it’s a given he’s with Opie, so it’s not that she’s worried- he’s been crashing at Ope’s unannounced for a few years now; no, Gemma will be pissed she didn’t get to give him a wake up call, make him his birthday breakfast, the whole nine yards. He guesses it’s a mom thing; Opie said Mary had been the same way years ago before she and Piney had split. He just hopes she won’t make life too miserable in retaliation- and he’s banking on the fact that it’s his birthday to buff out the situation. Tara being back will help, too; Gemma had always loved her and Jax will take any distraction he can get.

Jax turns to Opie and Tara. “I’ll be right back; I just need to change.” They nod at him, almost in sync, and it’s so adorable that he has the sudden urge to lean over and touch her. _Fuck it._ He lurches towards her and drops a kiss on the apple of her cheek before yanking the door open and trotting towards the house. Almost as he had last night, he doesn’t look back to survey the fallout from what he’s done- he just wants to revel in the fact that it seems like their friendship is still intact and kiss a girl he likes on his damn birthday. Smiling, he heads inside and straight into his room to find another pair of boxers and something to wear. He unbuckles his jeans, drops them, and something hits the floor with a muted clunk- Tara’s birthday present. He’d forgotten about it somehow, but now- in the privacy of his room with no Piney or Opie to look on- seems like the perfect time to look. He reaches into the pocket, fingers passing the worn denim edges and closing on a heavy, odd-shaped piece of metal. Instantly, he knows what it is. 

_Months ago, it would have been an odd occurrence to find Tara Knowles crying; if anything, she was the toughest of all of them. Scraped knees, bruised elbows, even the accident she’d had last year that had sent her flying into a wall and broken her arm- all had been handled the same way, with red-rimmed eyes and that stubborn chin jutting out, as if daring the world to try and mess with her again. Jackson can’t count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen her all-out cry… until her mom had gotten cancer. Now, he’d gotten accustomed to finding her tearful on occasion, maybe huddled up in the alcove off the playground during recess  or tucked into a corner at the clubhouse when she thought nobody was watching. Each time, she’d quickly swipe at her eyes and smile at him, usually dragging him off to ride, to play some game,_ anything _to distract him from asking questions. Not that he’d have had to ask- he already knew what was wrong- but he’d have liked to have been able to help her feel better, hug her like she did him when he was the one needing to work through something. No, Jackson wasn’t surprised to find her crying on the edge of his bed instead of watching he and Harry annihilate Contras via the Nintendo. He_ was _surprised, however, when she let him sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders; even more so when, instead of blinking back the tears, she cried even harder, turning her head to sob against his shirt.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he said, though he thought he already had a good idea. She didn’t say anything, but turned her palm to reveal a thin, twisted piece of metal. It took a moment for him to puzzle out what it was; it had been a ring, though any details were now hard to see. After studying it another moment, he realized that it had to be the one she always wore, that her hands were absent of any rings, and he squeezed her shoulder a little tighter. “What happened?” It took a minute before she’d calmed enough to respond, her voice thick with tears.  
  
“I… remember how I stayed after school today? My dad had to meet with Mrs. Baker, sort of let her know what’s going on, I guess.” Tara’s mom had recently come home from the hospital, but Jax wasn’t under the impression that it was because things were going well- the few times he’d seen her lately, he’d barely recognized her as the solid, quietly pretty woman he’d known. “I couldn’t listen to them _ talk _about it again, Jackson. You know? I went and sat on a swing outside and just sort of… waited. After a while, some girls came up to me. There were three of them and I thought they were going to kick me off my swing- there’s only three out there on the back playground. I would have moved; I was just sitting there. But when I got up, one of them noticed my ring. She sounded sweet, asked me if she could take a closer look at it. I was stupid and gave it to her.” Tara sniffled and let out a shaky breath. “She didn’t even look at it, she just dropped it and rolled it under her shoe on the cement. It was so thin, it bent in two on one side; it was my mom’s when she was my age. And now it’s ruined…” The word ended in another stream of sobs._

 _Jackson clenched his fist; he’d only ever really gotten into a shoving match or two when guys older than him had started taunting him about his dad being locked up, but right now he really_ really _wanted to hit someone. He wanted to ask Tara who had messed with her, but it didn’t really matter- even if the girl was an asshole, his dad had taught him never to put his hands on a girl that way. But he could make sure Tara was never alone again._  
  
“Hey, Tara?” Her tears were starting to ease up again, but her eyelids were red and puffy. “Who was it?” She shook her head. 

_“I only knew one of them- that girl Ima in our class? Her older sister. I don’t even know her first name, but she told me I better never tell anyone or I’d be sorry. Told me the ring was dead just like my mom’s about to be.” Jackson clenched his fist again, wishing he could make the girl hurt the way she had Tara.  
  
“Don’t worry. Harry and I… well, we’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you again.” And she wouldn’t, Jackson vowed to himself. They’d walk her home every night, make sure one of them was always with her at the playground, _ protect _her. Make her feel safe. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Stay here a minute.” He ignored the fact that she looked at him like he was crazy for suggesting she was going_ anywhere _right this moment and slipped out of his room and into his parents’. Rummaging through the small redwood chest his dad kept on the vanity, he quickly found what he was looking for and palmed it. JT wouldn’t miss it- besides, he’d be gone nearly 6 more months anyway.  
  
Tara seemed to have calmed substantially when Jackson re-entered his room. Easing back down onto the bed beside her, he nudged her thumb until she opened her hand, looking quizzically at him. When he dropped the ring into it, Tara’s eyes widened; she studied it for a moment before pressing it back towards him.   
  
“Jackson, I can’t take your dad’s ring…” He shook his head.   
  
“He has a lot of rings. He wasn’t even wearing this one when he went in, he won’t miss it. I promise.” Again, she opened her hand and turned it in her palm- the Reaper ring was heavy, silver, and clearly a man’s ring, Jackson knew it wasn’t normally something a girl would choose. “I know it isn’t anything like your mom’s ring, and I know it isn’t something you’d wear, normally. But I picked this one _ because _of that, sort of.” Tara smiled, faintly.  
  
“It’s a little scary looking, actually.”  
  
“Exactly. And if anyone messes with you again, show them this ring. You can tell them that they better leave you alone, or Harry and I will have something to say about it. And if that’s not enough, all of SAMCRO- Harry’s dad, my dad, _ everyone _will deal with them_. _That’s what the Reaper means in Charming, Tara. SAMCRO. Just keep it with you, OK?” She nodded at him, clutched the ring so tightly he was sure it was going to imprint a Reaper onto her palm, and kissed him on the cheek._ Holy crap. _She’d never done that before, although they did plenty of hugging, and Jackson suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. He needed a distraction and it struck him how he was now the one distracting her; quickly, he bolted up from his bed, took Tara’s hand and tugged her along behind him. “C’mon, let’s go kick Opie’s ass at Contra.”_

Jax can’t believe Tara still has the Reaper ring…or that she’s giving it back to him. That thought gives him pause- why is she giving it back? He’s trying to push down the slight panic that’s rising in his throat at the thought of her returning a gift he’d given her when he spots a white corner sticking out of the jeans pocket. Snatching it and sitting on his bed in his boxers, he unfolds the small piece of notebook paper.   
  
_Jackson-_  
I thought you should have the Reaper ring back, finally- I wore it on a chain around my neck every day while I was in San Diego, to remind me of you. I have you back, so I won’t be needing it anymore. Now that you’ll have your bike, I want you to feel when you’re riding how I felt when I wore it- safe and protected.   
  
Happy Birthday,   
Tara

He rereads the note a few times before re-folding it, his chest strangely tight. It did something to his insides to read about how she’d thought of him while she was away, and the fact that she’d felt protected then and no longer needs the ring to make her feel that way now that she’s in his presence… he’d grown up with a group of men that are probably some the most dangerous men he’ll ever meet. When it comes to family, though- and the club _is_ a family- he knows that any one of those men would sacrifice everything to protect them. Tara’s dad being what he is, well… she deserves to have a family, too, and he’s going to make sure that happens.

He dons a clean pair of jeans, a white SAMCRO t-shirt, and grabs a navy hoodie just in case; he’s not normally a guy that feels compelled to check his reflection- girls seemed to be drawn to him no matter what he looked like- but he gives himself a once-over anyway. _Not bad._ Almost as an afterthought, he slides the ring onto a long finger, flexing his hand experimentally. It looks good there, he decides. _Alright, it stays_. Slipping the note into his pocket and throwing the hoodie over a shoulder, he heads back out to where Opie and Tara are waiting.

Tara immediately spots the ring when he slides into the truck and if the smile she gives him has his heart rate quickening, he’s pretty sure it’s fucking racing when she covers his ringed hand with her own. For the second time in about fifteen minutes, he thinks _fuck it_ and weaves her fingers between his own. Much as he had last night, instead of panicking at the visceral reaction he’s having to her touch, he takes a deep breath and relaxes, revels in it. She’s looking at him-eyes slightly narrowed- but keeps the smile and turns her eyes back to the road and all of a sudden, everything is right. He’s on his way to what’s bound to be a taxing, long-as-hell birthday celebration with almost everyone he knows in the world but at the end of the night, he’ll have his bike, his best friend and Tara. He’s got this.

* * *

 

Gemma’s in the lot when they arrive at T-M, directing a group of slightly trashy looking women to do God-knows-what. She’s exactly as Tara remembers; she looks young for her age and dresses younger- a tight fitting black shirt with a plunging neckline and more sheen than she’s seen on anyone above 30, jeans that showcase an ass any woman would be envious of, severe looking heeled boots, and what looks to be half the jewelry she owns. Her hair’s nearly jet-black now, offsetting eyes that would be striking even without the expertly applied eyeliner and heavy shadow. Gemma’s the Queen of SAMCRO to JT’s King, and she’s always owned the title bestowed upon her; the Queen in her element, today, Tara figures- hosting hordes of bikers and their families all while getting to dote on Jackson and order around Prospects and croweaters. When she spots Opie’s truck, she gives the croweater she’s talking to one last finger wag and begins stalking over to them, glaring at Jackson through the passenger window.   
  
“Shit.” Jackson mutters from the seat next to her. Tara grins- Gemma’s intimidating, but at least she’s not mad at _her_ \- and squeezes his hand before releasing it to run her fingers through her hair, which has now dried in loose waves. “Tara, you get out first.” The pleading look on his face is priceless.   
  
“What? I mean, I‘d have to climb over you or something. _You’re_ the one next to the door…”

“I’ll let you climb over me any time, darlin’…” Tara backhands him in the chest and rolls her eyes. The nervous frown is replaced by that cocky fucking smirk again- she’s noticing the swagger comes out full-force when he’s teasing, nervous or hiding something.

“I told you not to call me that. Jack-ASS.”  
  
“I know, I know. Sorry. But I wasn’t lyin’ either, babe.” The smirk morphs into a shit-eating grin, his eyes twinkling. She doesn’t have time to ask him where the hell _babe_ had come from or how many girls he’d bestowed _that_ name upon, because Gemma’s at the passenger door knocking on the window, her lips in a thin line. The grin disappears in a heartbeat and reluctantly, Jackson opens the door while Gemma steps back, her foot tapping on the asphalt expectantly.   
  
“Well there’s the _birthday boy_ ,” she sneers as he slides out of the truck, “I was wondering if you planned on gracing us with your presence today. You know, your _family_.” Raising an eyebrow, she jams her hands onto her hips and waits for an answer.   
  
“Ma. It got late last night so I just crashed at Ope’s. I’m sorry, OK?” Gemma narrows her eyes.   
  
“Oh, it got _late_ , huh? What was so important that the _one_ goddamn night I bother to give you a curfew, you miss it and stay out all night anyway? Or should I say, _who_ was so important?” She shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that, Jackson, it’s always a matter of _who_ with you.” Opie’s now pushing gently against Tara’s back.   
  
“You gonna save his ass?” he murmurs. _Goddammit_. Tara’s actually enjoying the show, but has no desire to jump into the middle of it. As she slides towards the door, Jackson turns to take her hand so she can hop down from the truck.   
  
“I guess it _was_ a who last night, Mom, but not like you think.” Gemma’s silent and appears to be inspecting her, surveying her from head to toe with pursed lips. Her eyes rest on Tara and Jackson’s linked hands and her eyebrows shoot up almost to her hairline. Jackson doesn’t let go, so Tara tries to take the moment in stride- it’s _his_ mom, and his problem. Plus, she’s curious how he’s going to explain it.   
  
“And who’s this?” Jesus Christ, Gemma had known her since she was five, maybe even before that. Tara shifts uncomfortably and Jackson squeezes her hand. Damn him for making this even more uncomfortable than it needs to be.

“Bullshit, mom, you know Tara.” He sounds irritated. _Good_.

“I know her _name_ , Jackson, but that’s not what I asked you. I asked who she _was_. As in, _who is she to you?_ You’re lookin’ pretty cozy right now, you’re out all night with her last night… it’s a fair question, don’t ya think?” _Jesus Christ._ Jackson’s words mirror her thoughts.   
  
“Jesus Christ, mom, really?”   
  
“Yes, r _eally_. I’m your mother, Jackson, and the least you can do is tell me what you were up to last night and this morning when you didn’t come home for your own goddamn birthday. Why you’re standin’ here holding some girl’s hand-“ Gemma barely has time to finish before Jackson shoots back a reply.  
  
“She’s not _some girl_ , mom, she’s _Tara_ …” He trails off a bit, like he realizes what he’s said can be interpreted a few different ways- Gemma looks like the realization is hitting her, too, and Tara’s mind is racing to figure out what he means. Swallowing, he continues. “Ope and I watched movies at her house last night. By the time it was over, it was 10:30 and Piney’d told Ope to be home by then. It was too late to ask him to drive me home, so I just crashed on their couch. That’s it.” Gemma shook her head.   
  
“I’m _so sure_ that’s it…” Jesus, Gemma could pull off withering sarcasm like nobody she’s ever met- Tara’s pretty sure that if this goes on much longer, withering is exactly what she’ll feel like doing. Gemma studies her for another moment, seems to reach some conclusion Tara can’t even guess at, then wraps her in a tight hug. “Welcome back, sweetheart. Forgive the twenty questions, will ya?” Tara nods against Gemma’s shoulder, and the older woman steps back to hold her at arm’s length. “Look at you. You’re all grown up… gorgeous to boot. Actually, you look just like your mom- better rack though.” Gemma winks at her before narrowing her eyes at Jackson, who’s standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, probably wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He wouldn’t be the only one. “I don’t blame you, Jackson, I’d have tried to get a lock on her right away if I were you, too.” Both Tara and Jackson are blushing furiously by this point, but Gemma either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

She nods over Jackson’s head- “Mornin’ Opie. Your pop’s over supervisin’ the prospects building that ring Clay’s been talkin’ about puttin’ in. The two a you-“ she indicates Jackson and Opie “-can help ‘em. Tara, you’re with me.” _Fucking great._ “ I’ll let you kids have a minute to say your goodbyes. Meet me in the clubhouse, Tara, and make it quick.” She eyes them slyly for a moment before turning on a sharp heel and stalking inside, trailed by a few croweaters.

“Jackson! What the _hell_?” Tara backhands him on the chest for the second time in about ten minutes and sags against the side of the truck. He closes his eyes briefly.  
  
“Sorry. I knew she’d be pissed, but I figured she’d ease up on me a little once she saw you here.” She shot him her own withering stare.   
  
“Well that might’ve worked if you hadn’t been holding my hand. Now your mom thinks we’re… _something_. She _probably_ thinks I’m another one of your stupid croweaters.” He’s immediately defensive- rounding on her, his face red.  
  
“Didn’t you just hear what I said? You’re not just some girl, Tara. I meant that shit!” Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair.   
  
“Yeah, I _heard_ you. And if anyone else would have seen us holding hands, they’d have laughed, maybe given us some shit and been done with it. Not her, she’s not gonna let up until she knows what’s up., You know Gemma’s gonna think whatever she’s gonna think now no matter what we say, make all these assumptions about what’s going on with us… That’s something  I don’t think _we_ even know. It’s just…” Tara’s voice falters.   
  
“I’m s _orry_ ,” Jax says, much more softly than before. “Its just that all I’ve been doing is _thinking-_ about what’s happening between us, about what would happen if we… Well, I was tired of thinking about it, Tara. I just did it. I know it was a little selfish and now Gemma’s up our asses, but-“  
  
“Jesus Christ, I know I told both of you y’all needed to talk. But I’m gonna die of boredom over here if I have to listen to one more discussion about this shit today.” Tara doesn’t know when Opie’d gotten out of the truck, but he’s standing near the bumper and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Anyway, analyze each other to death, preferably sooner rather than later, but do it on your own time. It ain’t like this is a big deal anyway. I mean, you do realize you’re snarking at each other over 5 minutes of holding hands, right?” Jackson tilts his head back, as if acknowledging what Opie’s said, a look of determination crossing his face.   
  
“You know what, Ope? You’re right. It _was_ just holding hands- it’s not like Gemma caught us doing _this-“_ Before Tara can react, he grips her hips, gently pushing her against the side of the truck. One hand comes up to thread in her hair and his lips come crashing into hers, his tongue immediately seeking entrance into her mouth. She’s too surprised to protest, to worry about Gemma, to do anything but meet his tongue with her own, the hot, slick contact sending a shudder down her spine. His lips are soft against her but insistent as he angles his head to fully claim her mouth and press his hips firmly against her. It’s both everything her mind hadn’t been able to let go of since last night and everything that had been _missing_ last night. She doesn’t have long to savor the delicious pressure of his body on hers because he’s stepping back almost as quickly as he’d moved towards her seconds before, his hand trailing on her hip. Speechless, she surveys the lot, which is busy for a Saturday morning, but nobody seems to be paying them any mind. Jackson follows her gaze.

“I doubt anybody saw. But if they’re gonna be talking anyway, why not give ‘em something to talk about?” _Why not?_ Tara can give several reasons why not, actually… it’s just that that kiss had seemed to make all of them cease to matter. He darts forward to drop another kiss on her mouth, then a softer one on her forehead before backing away and clapping Opie on the shoulder. “We gotta go before Gemma asks for a Mayhem vote on our asses. But I’m serious, Tara. I’m tired of constantly _thinking_ about this shit. I did that because I wanted to and its my goddamn birthday. I should get at least _one_ thing I want today, don’t you think?” His eyes crinkle as he gives her that lopsided smile that makes her stomach flutter.   
  
“Well, the Prince doesn’t always get what he wants.” She grins back, shaking her head.

“Did this time, babe. C’mon, Ope.” They slam the truck doors shut and turn towards the bays before he directs a question at Ope- “We’re talking. You satisfied, bro?” Opie shakes his head, smirking.   
  
“Don’t matter. The question is, are you?” Jackson throws Tara one last glance over his shoulder as they walk away, a wicked grin spreading across his beautiful, beautiful face.  
  
“Not even close.” 

 


	13. Ch 13

“Get a move on, ladies, there’ll be bikes rolling in under an hour! You, get your perky ass in the kitchen with, uh… the one with the big tits. No, the other one. _Jesus Christ_ … let’s try it this way. Blondies- kitchen, now! Brunettes- follow Luanne here and start setting up the tables. You. Yeah, you, the redhead. You and Tara come with me.”  
  
Well, at least Gemma knows her name, which is more than she can say for the croweaters. It had been a long damn day, full of more kitchen work than Tara had had to do in a long time; she’d occasionally helped her aunt prepare meals, but Jane had been more than willing to let Tara study while she cooked. She’d chopped more vegetables and sliced more fruit today than in the sum total of the rest of her life, she thinks. Gemma had been, well, _everywhere_ , directing croweaters and old ladies alike, and Tara had been watching her out of the corner of her eye most of the day with fascination. She’d never met anyone more sure of herself, more confident that those around her would bend to her will, than Gemma Teller. She has a reason to believe that, too, Tara thinks; not once had anyone questioned her instructions, not even the occasional patched member that wandered into the clubhouse. Gemma had seamlessly directed the flock of women surrounding her to make the clubhouse as spotless as Tara could ever remember seeing it- sheets changed in the dorm rooms, bathrooms and bar fixtures gleaming- hell, even the pool table looked brand new.

She’d been relieved when she’d been assigned to the kitchen with the old ladies instead of being asked to clean god-knows-what in the rooms in the back of the clubhouse- they’d been off limits as kids but now that she’s almost sixteen, she has a good idea what goes on in those rooms on the weekends.  She tries to push the image of Jackson in one of the rooms with a croweater out of her head as she and the redhead trail behind Gemma, whose heels are clicking down the long back hallway. They stop at the end, at what appears to be a storage closet.   
  
“Its been a while since we had a family event here, let alone Jackson’s birthday.” Gemma says, voice muffled as she rummages through the closet. “Ever since he got into high school, he’s too cool to let his ma plan his parties; I manage to slip something by him every year anyway. But-“ she leans even further inside, grasping a box with “decorations” scrawled on the side, “these have been in here a couple years and some of them are probably done for.” Hefting the box up onto a hip, she turns to the redhead. “My keys are on the hook in the kitchen- go get the bags out of the backseat and bring ‘em in. You two can decorate the place.” The redhead dutifully trots off and Tara eyes Gemma, expecting another set of orders. Instead, the matriarch seems to study her, still clutching the box. Tara’s growing more uncomfortable by the minute, until Gemma speaks. “You’re not one of them, you know.” _Yeah, no shit._ Gemma must have read her face, because she continues. “I mean it, Tara. You’re not some airhead skank, here to try to fall into the club’s good graces. You’re also not meaningless pussy. You know it. I know it. Hell, even John knows it.” What the hell is she getting at? Tara can’t help her response any more than she can the smirk that slides onto her face as she says it.  
  
“Yeah, well, does _Jackson_ know it?” _Jesus Christ._ She watches the look cross Gemma’s face and knows that while even though not much can shock the woman that’s the most straightforward person she’s ever met, Gemma hadn’t expected her to actually come out and _say_ it.

“What are you talking about? Of course he does. You’ve been friends since you were five, he’d be stupid to think you’re some easy pussy. You don’t think I _know_ what that little show he put on earlier was for? Him holding your hand wasn’t just about how much he _cares_ about you-“ the sarcasm dripping from Gemma’s voice makes Tara fold her arms even tighter across her chest, hugging herself as she braces against whatever Gemma’s about to dish out. “-he wanted me to know that even though he’s in the doghouse with me, it was _worth it._ ”  
  
“And you know all this, _how_ , exactly?” Tara can’t help shooting back. Gemma looks exasperated.  
  
“I’m his _mother_. I know Jackson better than anyone else on this planet, and I know when he’s making a statement, probably even before _he_ does. So, no, you’re not one of them, especially not to my son.” Tara’s speechless. She doesn’t know what she expected to come out of Gemma’s mouth, especially after this morning, but it wasn’t _this_. Gemma seems to study her a moment longer, shifting the box to the other hip. “This past year’s been hard on him, with Tommy, all the other shit that’s been going on. But he’s changed since you got back, seems more calm, more centered. Those girls in there-“ she jerks her head towards the main room, “-they can’t do that for him. I just need to know where your head’s at with this.” Great. Yet another person in her life asking her for answers she doesn’t have, yet.   
  
“Gemma… we don’t even know that _this_ is. I’ve been back just over a week, and I definitely didn’t plan on showing up and walking into a relationship with anyone, especially Jackson.” At this, Gemma’s perfectly shaped brows shoot up. Tara holds up a hand. “Let me finish. You’re right- we’ve been friends for years and I think we understand each other better than most people do. We’ve both been through some shit… it just _fits_ , our friendship. I just wasn’t expecting to feel like this, and I don’t think he was either.” Gemma’s face morphs into a knowing smile, and she’s not sure why she’s just hinted at just how strongly she reacts to Jackson to a second person today while she hasn’t broached the subject with Jackson himself at all. _Get it together, Knowles._ She doesn’t have time to stress over this, not now, not with the most intimidating woman she’s ever met staring her down in the hallway of an MC clubhouse. “I just need some time- _we_ need time- to figure some things out. If there’s a change, you’ll be the first to know.” Gemma’s grin widens, her lips curling cynically.   
  
“Oh trust me, sweetheart. I will be. You take your time, do what you gotta do but we both know where this will end up. Just be careful with my son. You’ve got your strings in him now, I can tell, and this ain’t familiar territory for him.” She reaches out and squeezes Tara’s shoulder, almost painfully. ”Ya know, I loved you when you were a kid and I always thought the two a’ you might end up together- tell you the truth, nothing would make me happier. But you break his heart and I’ll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that.” _Holy, holy, shit._ She doesn’t have time to respond, as the redhead is trotting back up the hallway with shopping bags full of party décor. _Thank God._  Gemma hugs her with her free arm, pulling her against her side and briefly pressing a kiss on her hair. “Good talk.” She hands Tara the box. “You go ahead and tell Red here where you want things; grab a couple of the others if you need to. You’re in charge- make sure they know that. Come on into the kitchen with the other old ladies when you’re done.” Tara’s mind is spinning as Gemma walks away, hips swishing, and she doesn’t know what to land on first- the fact that Jackson’s mother had just threatened her, the fact that she’d also basically told her she’d be happy if they ended up together, the fact that a _second_ person today has hinted that _she_ might be the one to break _Jackson’s_ heart, or the fact that she’s basically been treated like an old lady all afternoon. Any one of those things would have her mind reeling, but all of them together… she shakes her head. She can’t think about it now, not with the redhead staring at her curiously.   
  
“Come on.” Tara starts towards the main room of the clubhouse and the redhead follows. They’re pulling banners and table decorations out of the various bags when Red speaks, her head cocked to one side.   
  
“Can I ask you something?” Tara returns her gaze. _What does she want?”_

“Uh, sure?”   
  
“Who _are_ you? I’ve lived in Charming several months now and the entire club was talking about it when you came back here, but I guess I don’t see what the hell the big deal is. I mean, he usually goes for the blondes, and you look like nothing special.” Tara freezes. Who does this bitch think she is? She decides to be as vague as possible.  
  
“Oh, I’m nobody. Just someone who’s known Jackson since he was five years old.” She considers adding ‘ _I’m also the one who kissed him senseless last night”,_ but decides not to lower herself to this croweater’s level. Red returns to sifting through the box, clearly unconcerned about Tara’s chances with the Prince.   
  
“Oh. Well, they were all talking like you were his _girlfriend_ or something. But if you’re just his friend… do you think he’d go for a redhead? Like I said, he usually likes blondes and I’ve been trying to get him to notice me for weeks now. If it’s just the hair, well, that’s something I can fix.” Tara gapes at this girl who’d be willing to change her fucking _hair color_ for a better shot with Jackson and shakes her head, slowly.   
  
“I have _no_ idea. But can I ask you something?” The redhead nods absently, pulling a bag of balloons out of the box. “What’s so special about _him_? I mean, he’s handsome and everything, but none of you know him that well, so it can’t be his personality that has you all chasing him, can it?” The redhead shakes her head.   
  
“Oh he’s gorgeous, alright, with a body to match. And rumor has it, he’s got skills but he hasn’t put his hands- or lips, for that matter- on anyone for months.” _What the hell does that mean?_ The redhead pauses and must have read Tara’s expression because she clarifies. “Jax doesn’t put himself out there for anyone- no cuddling, no fucking, no kissing. Just blow jobs, it’s been that way for a while now.” Tara tries to swallow the revulsion she feels when the image of some blonde on her knees in front of Jackson slips, unbidden, into her head. Then the realization that Red had said _no kissing_ hits her. That’s all the two of them had done, together, and it’s a bit of a relief to hear that there’s at least one part of him she’s had that most of the women in this clubhouse haven’t. It almost makes her feel better about the Jackson/croweater porn flick that’s now on repeat in her head. Almost. “Well, it’s become sort of a thing for us girls, in a way. _Someone’s_ gotta be the first person to sleep with the Prince. Maybe it’ll be me.” Tara shakes her head at the thought of girls lining up to service a guy, and for what? To win some imaginary prize? She doesn’t want to know more, she _doesn’t_ …but she hears herself asking the question just the same.

“But why? There are plenty of other members-“ Red’s nose wrinkles “-and though I get that most of them aren’t what you’d call model-handsome, they’re at least experienced. If you have a thing for bikers, wouldn’t they fit the bill?” The redhead smiles, almost sympathetically.   
  
“Oh, _honey_. You really have been gone a while, haven’t you? It isn’t about the dick- though I’ve heard good things- it’s about who owns it. See, Jax Teller is the Prince right now, but he’s gonna be the _King_. Whoever’s his old lady will be the Queen; that’s why nobody will _fit the bill_ except him. So, yeah, girls that choose to stick around eventually wind up with one of the other members- maybe even as an old lady, but everyone agrees that Jax Teller is the ultimate.” Dumbfounded, the only voice Tara can manage seems small and weak compared to the voice in her head that’s yelling shit like “you’re using him, you miserable skank” at the moment.  
  
“He’s barely sixteen…” The redhead shrugs.   
  
“And I’m barely nineteen. But we all got dreams, right? It’s a bonus that this one’s gorgeous and comes with a nice side of dick.” Tara watches as the croweater finishes unpacking the box and looks expectantly at her, waiting for instructions. She gives them, and the two of them make short work of hanging up the various banners, streamers and other supplies. It’s sad, she thinks, that this many women seem to have their entire lives wrapped up in this one club. The old ladies, at least, are there because there’s a member they love… allegedly. But the croweaters… if Red’s to be believed, they’re here only for the slight chance it would benefit them, someday. Gemma had told her she wasn’t one of them, had reassured her that Jackson didn’t see her that way, but she wonders all over again what he wants out of this. If there’s one thing she does know, she thinks as she savagely stuffs the shopping bags into the empty box, its that _if_ there’s to be anything other than friendship between them, this croweater shit stops. _Now_.   
  
She heads into the darkened back hallway with the box on her hip and shoves it back into the closet. For good measure, she slams the closet door shut, kicking it closed when it bounces back open again. She almost jumps out of her skin when the voice echoes down the hallway.   
  
“Shit. My mom being that big a pain in the ass?” Still facing the door, Tara closes her eyes. She’s spent the morning prepping for his birthday, getting questioned by Gemma regarding their relationship, listening to croweaters either insult her or talk about him like she’s not even there… and somehow, she’s not ready to face him just yet. Too bad nobody ever asked her what she wanted. She turns towards him and is surprised by his proximity- from the way his voice had echoed, he’d been much further down the hall when he’d spoken, but now he’s inches away from her. Even worse, he’s shirtless, his body gleaming with sweat, lit from the side by a window in one of the open dorm rooms. It takes everything in her not to reach out and run a hand down his chest, his abs… He stops this train of thought by dropping a kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry about her. But thanks for this- for helping, putting up with her shit, for being here today.” She wants to point out that there are at least twenty other women in the other room that are here just as she is, but what Gemma had said earlier comes back to her- _you’re not one of them, especially to my son-_ and in the end, she settles with a nod and a smile. A smile he immediately wipes off her face as he leans in to kiss her.

This kiss is different from the others- there’s no nerves, no angst-y should-I-or-shouldn’t-I back and forth, no weighing the consequences in the back of her mind. Most notably, there’s no urgency as Jackson almost lazily plucks at her mouth with his own and shifts his arms around her waist. She reaches up to sift her fingers through his hair, still warm from the afternoon sun and a little damp, and allows herself to revel in sensation as his warm mouth leaves her lips to find, once again, the place on her neck that had her shivering the night before. He sucks, lightly, then laves the spot with his tongue and she’s suddenly convinced there’s a direct pathway from her neck to her center, so lightning-quick does the ache travel there. Unable to stop herself from thinking of the way he’d felt against her this morning, she drops her hands from his hair, runs them down his perfect, bare chest and around his hips, pulling him bodily against her and centering him just right so she can feel him against her. He seems to take her hint and increases the pressure of his body on hers, circling his hips in a way that leaves her simultaneously breathless and panting against him. Her hot breath on his cheek has him seeking the source of it- finding her lips again and delving even deeper than before, tongues tangling slowly.

They’re wrapped up in each other like this a few minutes later- her hands around his waist, one of his in her hair and the other on her cheek- when someone at the opposite end of the hallway clears their throat. Jackson smiles against her lips and backs up infinitesimally. Over his shoulder, Tara spots Gemma- a knowing smirk on her lips- and the redhead, who is looking at her accusatorily and holding a stack of towels. She gives both of them a satisfied smile and kisses Jackson on the cheek before releasing her hold on his hips. Gemma doesn’t waver but the redhead’s glare intensifies.   
  
“Jackson, if you’re… finished, here, you need to get your ass into the shower. The boys’ll be rolling in any minute and you stink.” Still facing Tara, inches from where he’d been moments before, he rolls his eyes before responding.   
  
“Sure, ma. I’m on my way.” Gemma shakes her head, the smirk widening to a grin.   
  
“Yeah, I can see that.” Jackson brings his lips to her ear.  
  
“You and I both know we need to talk. And it needs to be alone.” He places a kiss on her ear and she shivers as he backs away and turns up the hallway, disappearing into the dorm that stood open.   
  
“You had time to do some _thinking_ , did you?” Gemma’s looking at her, an eyebrow cocked, that knowing grin still in place. Tara has the urge to wipe it off her.   
  
“Nah, it’s sort of hard to do any thinking when _that’s_ happened the last few times we’ve been around each other.” Gemma doesn’t lose the grin like Tara thought she would (though the redhead continues to glare at her), just shakes her head a little.   
  
“Smartass… C’mon, the old ladies are in the kitchen opening up a couple bottles of wine. Red, you make sure to get a couple towels in each of the rooms. God knows they’ll get used.” Gemma hesitates, seeming to reconsider her instructions. After a moment, she takes three towels off the top of the stack and tosses them inside the room Jackson had just entered Pulling a ring of keys from her pocket, she shuts and locks the door. Her gaze falling back on Tara, she explains “you can never be too careful, what with all the pussy wandering around here.” _That’s for sure._

* * *

 

Jax studies himself in the steamy bathroom mirror- he _looks_ sixteen… hell, he’d looked eighteen or older for at least a year now- not as old as Opie, but it’s enough to get him cigarettes at nearly every convenience store in town. He’s just not sure he _feels_ sixteen. He’d played at it over the past year or so, sure- he’d been the one in control every time he was alone with one of the many, faceless, girls he’d had, his comings and goings both at home and at school were pretty much all under his own authority, and he frequents a clubhouse with a bunch of outlaws. But nothing takes away his bluster or his swagger like Tara. No, with _her_ he feels every bit of the fumbling teenager he is, and he’s not sure he likes it. Nobody- especially not a girl- has ever made him question his every move like she does. Still, feeling the other things he does when he’s with her- especially when he has her pushed up against Ope’s truck or a hallway door- makes him forget all his uncertainty, even momentarily, and he’s starting to feel like it’s a fair trade.

Suddenly, he hears the rumbling of distant motorcycles and closes his eyes. _Shit._ He’d spent most of the day building the boxing ring with Opie and the prospects and the rest cleaning out the bays. Gemma had worked him like a slave and it hadn’t felt much like his birthday- as a result, he’d almost forgotten about the party they were cleaning up for. He sighs- _guess that’s over_. Wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist, he wanders into the bedroom to find a few towels tossed haphazardly on the floor, and a fresh set of clothes folded and stacked on the bed. _Gemma_. He smiles despite himself, and is thankful once again that his mom- despite how overbearing and downright intrusive she can be- looks out for him.

He’s dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet into a pair of white sneakers, when someone taps on the door.   
  
“Yeah.” Whoever it is turns the handle, but the door is locked. “Hold on.” He shuffles across the room and unlocks the door to find his dad, dressed to the nines, SAMCRO-style. For JT, this means a clean pair of jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, a soft gray and white flannel, and a kutte. He’s standing there, smiling slightly, and Jax can’t help but imagine himself in the same position- talking to his son here in this clubhouse, wearing the President patch. “Hey dad.” JT lurches forward to hug him.  
  
“Hey, son. Happy birthday.” The two break apart and Jax briefly wonders where his dad and the rest of the patched members had been today. No doubt taking care of club business before the party; not for the first time, he feels almost desperate to be in the inner circle… to _know_. But there’s at least a year before he’ll even prospect, another year after that before he’s sitting at the table; right now it’s all stretching out before him like some endless highway. But today, he gets his Harley. The idea hasn’t excited him for weeks- months, even- but last night he’d had visions of Tara watching as he received his bike and today, he’d allowed himself to imagine her on the back of it and had finally managed to rally himself to look forward to what would be the high point of this party. He just has to make it through the rest. JT’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Jackson?” _Christ_. He can’t tell his dad any of that shit. Jax searches frantically for something to say, when JT beats him to the punch. “Could it be the Prodigal Daughter?” JT’s smiling at him, now, and while this wouldn’t be his first choice of conversation, it’s infinitely better than telling his dad he’s dreading his own goddamn birthday party.

“I guess. She’s been here with Mom all day, and you know how Mom can be…” JT smirks, seems happy to be talking to him, finally.   
  
“Oh I know. Believe me, I _know_. She was in the kitchen with all the old ladies, just now, so I think she’s fine. She sticking around for the rest of the party?” Jax nods. “Well, good. You just remember what I told you the other day. Don’t fuck this up.” There it is again. His dad, the eminent sage of fucking vague wisdom.   
  
“You keep saying that, dad. You gonna tell me how, exactly, I can avoid fucking it up? ‘Cause I got a lot riding on this- she’s my best friend. I can’t _afford_ to fuck it up.“ JT shakes his head and squeezes his shoulder.   
  
“I can’t tell you that for sure, son. Every relationship’s different; every _girl’s_ different. But I can tell you that Tara ain’t the type to accept being one of many. You want her, you’re gonna have to put aside this fascination you have with blondes. She’s smart, and you ain’t gonna be able fool her, either, so don’t even think about it.” Jax stares at his father. Is he, the King of SAMCRO, the creator of the term ‘croweater’, really advising him to keep his dick in his pants? Granted, he’d already sensed that Tara was disgusted by the whole idea and he hadn’t considered hooking up with a croweater in days, now; it just surprised him that the advice was coming from JT of all people. JT seems to read his expression and chuckles. “I was worse than you at that age. Hell, through most of my twenties. It took me a long time before I learned that a man can’t really be the man a woman- _a family_ \- needs if he’s got his heart in one place and his dick in another.” He looks at Jax, a strange expression crossing his face, then averts his eyes. “ _Too long_.” Whatever’s troubling him seems to clear before Jax can think too deeply about what he’s said.

“Anyway. Think about what I said. That little girl ain’t just some girl to you, is she?” Jax shakes his head. “That’s what I thought. You’re sixteen, you’re bound to fuck up, at least a little bit. But you do your best to treat her right, you hear me? You ain’t gonna find another one like her, not in this town.” Jax nods. He knows everything his father has said is true, and it feels good to be talking to him, for once. “Alright. Well, enough of this sappy shit, let’s go get this party started.” JT puts his arm around Jax and leads him out into the main room of the clubhouse, where a horde of bikers awaits.   
  
The cheer that erupts is almost deafening. Sons with various charter patches, old ladies, croweaters, kids… all are there to celebrate his birthday. The thought is a little overwhelming, even as it crosses Jax’s mind that they’re also here to fucking party. He flashes the signature Teller grin and the cheers get louder as he searches the crowd for Ope and Tara. He spots Opie first, flanked by Piney and Chibs and whistling, two fingers in his mouth. Tara takes a bit longer, but he finally glimpses her amongst a group of women near the bar. The urge to cross the room, take her by the hand and take off running towards the parking lot is almost overwhelming; then JT’s arm that’s still draped around his shoulder squeezes, hard, and suddenly he feels like he’ll survive the next few hours.   
  
Jax doesn’t spot Tara again for over an hour. First, he was subjected to several rounds of handshakes and well wishes from Sons hailing from half a dozen other charters. He’d escaped what had seemed to be an endless cycle of them and made his way into the kitchen only to get cornered by Luanne, Big Otto’s wife and his mother’s best friend. She’d pelted him with questions about everything under the sun, including Tara- it was clear Gemma hadn’t been subtle in her mission to ferret out the details about their relationship. He’d made his excuses with Luanne and split out the back kitchen door only to be spotted by Chibs, who was drunk enough by this point to be almost unintelligible- his accent seemed to get thicker the more alcohol he consumed. Chibs had handed him a six pack of beer, at least, and he’d downed half of one before deciding to head up to his father’s favorite escape- the rooftop.

Jax eases himself down onto a milk crate on the rooftop, keeping the six pack near his feet, and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s still a bit unsettling to him how uncomfortable he is at his own party, especially since he’d never been one to shy away from the benefits a party can bring- namely free-flowing booze and easy pussy (though he supposes pussy is a misnomer, what with his predilection for blow jobs). Still, he can’t shake the knowledge that all of this, this whole show of solidarity between his family, is more for JT, Gemma, and the club than it is for him. He’d just have to do his part, get his bike, and get the fuck out. Thankfully, his relationship with his father’s been significantly less awkward today than in weeks past, so he supposes it isn’t a total waste. Cracking another beer, he searches for Tara, once again, and finally locates her near the beginnings of the bonfire the prospects set up to light the lot come dark. Even from a distance, he’s nearly staggered by her beauty and the sheer longing that sets up residence in his chest at the sight of her. She’s talking to Piney and Opie, and the firelight on the side of her face makes him itch to touch her cheek, just where the golden glow appears. He really should go rescue her; after all, she’d made it clear she wasn’t completely comfortable showing up here in the first place. However, he’s simply enjoying watching her and sipping his beer; besides, if he ventures back down to the lot, he’ll be assaulted by Uncle Jury and his crew, who are pulling onto the lot as he watches.   
  
He finishes another beer on the rooftop, Tara entering and exiting his line of vision occasionally, the cold beer warming his belly and dulling the edge of his nerves. He’s gathering up the courage to head back down the ladder when Opie’s head appears in the square cutout.  
  
“Hey, bro, Tara’s lookin’ for you and I think JT wants to do the bike soon.” Jax stands, his solitude on the rooftop at an end.   
  
“A’ight.” He follows Ope down the ladder, clutching the plastic band that holds the remainder of his beer, and heads back into the main room of the clubhouse. Ope disappears to find JT and Jax is searching for Tara when a soft hand grabs his own. Smiling, he squeezes Tara’s hand and turns so he can maybe touch her like he’s been thinking about for hours… when he realizes it’s not Tara but some redhead. He thinks he’s seen her around the clubhouse before, but he can’t be sure- JT wasn’t wrong about his preference for blondes, which Tara all but blew to smithereens with her return. He removes his hand from her grasp but shoots her an easy smile. “Hey darlin’, what’s up?” She smiles back and recaptures his hand. _This one’s persistent._

“Gemma wants you to head on back to that empty dorm room- the one you took a shower in? Part of some surprise, I guess.” She tugs at his hand, pulls him towards the back. Uncertainly, he follows. It must be something to do with his bike, he surmises. He hasn’t seen a trace of anything that looks like a bike since the party started- it makes sense they’d want him in the back while they drove it in. The redhead doesn’t spare him a glance as they head down the back hallway- in fact, it isn’t until they’re in the room that she raises her eyes to his.   
  
“OK, so I’m just supposed to wait h-“ he’s cut off as Red launches herself at him, pressing her lips to his own. _What the fuck?_ Caught off guard as he is, she has time to throw her arms around his neck before he comes to his senses and pushes her away, his words matching the litany running through his head. “What the fuck?” Nonplussed, she advances on him again, this time caressing his crotch.   
  
“Come on, Jaxy baby. It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it? Doesn’t seem like that little stuck up plain Jane is giving you what you need. _And_ it’s your birthday, every man deserves a good time on his birthday…” She moves to kiss him again, and he pushes her away almost violently, her back hitting the door and almost slamming it shut with her weight- only it hits something and stops, bouncing her back towards him.   
  
“Get. Out.” He grits, teeth clenched. He almost wishes JT hadn’t instilled in him at a young age that real men didn’t hit women- it would be nothing short of satisfying to show her just how angry he is; as it is, it’s almost as satisfying watching her fumble with the door behind her- she can’t seem to find the handle so he pulls her away from the door, wrenches it open himself and repeats himself one last time. “Get the fuck…” his words die away as his vision clears and he sees the reason the door hadn’t closed fully. A shoe. Specifically, Tara’s shoe. _Oh, Jesus Christ._ Her face is even, eyes wide, and from her face, Jax could have been convinced she hadn’t a clue what had happened in the dorm room except for the fact that she’s breathing heavily, her fists clenched.   
  
“I think it would be a good idea to do what he asked, sweetheart _._ ” Her voice is clear and sweet- only the complete lack of sarcasm from what he knows is one of the world’s premiere smartasses tips him off that behind all that sweetness is danger. Too bad Red hasn’t a clue.   
  
“Your prude ass isn’t going to be enough for him, _sweetheart,_ best learn that now before you get too cozy. One day, you’ll catch him with one of us and you’ll find out the hard way.” Before Tara can react, Jax grabs her hand to pull her inside and slams the door.  
  
“Tara. I swear, I didn’t-“ she silences him with fingertips over his mouth and a shake of her head.   
  
“That isn’t necessary, Jackson. I know how things work around here- I’ve spent _all day_ hearing about how things work.” She smiles, sadly. Jax shakes his head furiously.   
  
“You’re right- that _is_ normally how things work. Normally, I’d be back here getting offered whatever I wanted from any of those girls out there. Two weeks ago, I’d have taken one of them up on it. Today, the thought of it made me sick.”   
  
“It _should_.” Tara returns, drily. “It should make you feel sick, because that shit isn’t normal, Jackson. Women don’t throw themselves at 16 year olds just to get a piece of their father’s MC, at least not in the real world.”   
  
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, yes, it _is_ fucked up, but that’s not the reason I pushed her away. And I _know_ you heard what happened in here, you know I never encouraged any of that shit. She lied to get me back here- told me Gemma said to wait, some shit about a surprise. I thought it was my bike.” Tara averts her eyes, and in that moment he’s sure she’d heard everything. But he’s making fucking excuses and that’s not what he needs to say, not what she needs to hear. “All that shit doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that ever since you got back, its like all the others disappeared. I don’t want anybody but you, Tara. All this-“ he gestures wildly around the room “-all this is nothing compared to the way you make me feel.” Heart pounding, his eyes search her frantically, looking for some sign- any sign- she’s heard him, _really_ heard him. Her expression is unreadable as she places a hand on his chest, and then he sees it- her eyes are brimming with tears. Christ, he can’t handle it if he’s made her cry again.   
  
“That’s not all _I_ want, though, Jackson-“ At that moment, the door opens behind them and they whirl to see Opie come into view, his eyes wide like he’s wishing he could close the door and slowly back away before they spot him.   
  
“Uh… JT says to get your ass onto the lot. I guess it’s bike time?” He couldn’t sound more uncertain and Jax can’t help but laugh despite the utterly horrible timing his friend had. He grabs Tara’s hand and tries to ignore it when she shrinks back the tiniest bit.

“Tara.” He waits until she meets his eyes, cups a hand under her chin. “Trust me. Please.” She says nothing, but nods slowly. Pulling her after him, he and Ope make their way onto the lot. The cheer this time is somehow bigger than the one earlier today, and as JT and Piney spot the boys, they break out into matching grins. A large tarp covers what he’s sure is his bike, and now that the moment is here, he can’t help but grin back despite everything that’s just happened. Tara moves to edge back into the crowd, but he squeezes her hand tighter and turns to her. “I want you here with me.” He’s practically shouting to be heard over the crowd, but she hears him; she takes a deep breath and seems to steady herself, straightening her spine. He’s almost distracted again by how crazy it is that she’s here on his sixteenth birthday, about to hold his hand as he receives his very first Harley-  then JT’s talking and the crowd falls silent.   
  
“Today, my son, Jackson Nathaniel Teller, is turning sixteen. Now, all of you know that the tradition is that any legacy of the club will receive, as a gift from the club, their first bike on their sixteenth birthday. I regret to tell you that that’s not exactly what’s happening today.” _What?_ He can feel Tara’s hand in his and he grips it like a lifeline. Had he done something? Failed some sort of test? _What’s happening?_ Opie shoots him a worried look. “Today, we’re not presenting Jax’s bike” The crowd begins to stir. “Several months ago, before Opie’s birthday, Piney came to me with a proposition; he said his boy wasn’t a fan of all this pomp and circumstance and could we maybe just give him his bike sorta under the radar. Well, you all know how SAMCRO feels about that.” Nervous chuckles drift from the crowd. “We reached a compromise- he’d give Opie the cage, we’d wait things out until around Jax’s birthday, and then lo and behold, the Wistons aren’t quite as camera-shy!” JT flashes Piney a knowing grin. “So today, I have for you not one, but two legacies of this club. Sons of two of the First Nine, and the first of the next generation of SAMCRO. Jackson Nathaniel Teller and Harry Opie Winston.” The crowd basically explodes as Jax almost loses his footing in relief. Someone, somewhere, lifts the tarp off the mound behind JT and, as promised, two bikes shine in the firelight that’s replaced the waning sun.   
  
“Get on up here, boys!” Piney shouts. Jesus, he’s wearing the biggest fucking smile Jax has ever seen on him. Jax has to let go of Tara’s hand and he and Opie head up to inspect their bikes- his a Dyna Glide, Ope’s a Softail. At least they won’t be riding identical bikes. Grinning, Opie hugs him, clapping his back before releasing him; then, both boys turn and hug their fathers. JT’s eyes are twinkling, and in this moment, Jax thinks he looks happier than he has in years.   
  
“Now go take your girl for a ride.” JT says this quietly, and Jax can’t help the huge grin that crosses his face. Fuck yeah, he will. No more uncertainty. No more bullshit. Time for all the croweaters, Gemma, all the men that have undoubtedly been eyeing her all day, to know. Time to make a statement. He stalks back to the edge of the crowd and grabs Tara by the hand. He can tell she’s shocked, but he doesn’t really give a shit- all he has to do is get her on the back of his bike. The crowd hoots and hollers at this development and someone hands forward another helmet. He gives that one to Tara, and straps on the one dangling from the handlebars; as an afterthought, he shrugs out of his plaid shirt and hands that to her as well. Before he knows it, he’s on the bike and she’s thrown a leg over and is seated behind him. Ope’s already ready to go, and together, they start up their bikes for the first time. The crowd cheering, Tara behind him, Opie beside him… it’s one of the best moments of his life, and he’s going to enjoy the fuck out of it.  
  
The feel of the wind on his face and Tara’s arms wrapped around him is… right. That’s the only word he can come up with to describe it. Not for the first time today, he’s grateful for her, his parents, his SAMCRO family, everyone that’s led him here, to this moment. He gives it some throttle and feels her arms tighten again, and suddenly the whole day is worth it. Worth all the work on the stupid boxing ring he hadn’t even seen in use, worth the heat he’d taken from Gemma, the conversation with his father… even worth having to push off that croweater- he just hopes Tara feels the same. 


	14. Ch 14

Jax isn’t sure where they’re going, though he’s in the lead. At first, they’re cruising around Charming aimlessly, getting a feel for the new bikes; eventually his driving seems to have purpose. It’s not until he’s on the highway headed out of town that he realizes where they’re headed- the cabin the club owns about 20 miles outside of town. _Shit, better tell Ope_. There’s a pull off ahead and he takes it; Tara’s arms slacken around him. Opie pulls in next to them and gives Jax a brief nod, to his relief; he’d been momentarily afraid Ope was going to give him flak.   
  
“You coming back to the party?” Ope says, simply, his expression neutral.   
  
“Not sure. If not, I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can figure out how to get the truck back to your place. Tell Gemma I rode out to Lodi or somethin’, I don’t care.” Opie nods, and turns his attention to Tara.

“You good?” She’s silent, but Jax can feel her nod behind him, her chest still pressed against his back. Opie seems satisfied and gives them a brief smile. “You two work your shit out. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He roars off, and Jax looks over his shoulder at Tara, who’s staring at him, eyes wide. He doesn’t even have to ask; she just tightens her arms around him. _That’s my answer._ As he turns forward and fires up the bike, her cheek is against his back again and he has nearly thirty whole minutes to enjoy it.

The cabin is dark, thankfully, and Jax parks the bike along the side. Now that they’re here, his fucking nerves are back full-force, but there’s no going back now. He unstraps his helmet and swings his leg off the bike- Tara’s still sitting on the back, hands clutching the side of the seat. He reaches out for the helmet, but she takes his hand instead and gingerly gets off the bike. She’s standing before him, inches away, and hasn’t said a word since their confrontation in the dorm room; worse, they’d just had their first ride on his bike and while _he’d_ been exhilarated- both by the ride and from having her with him- they’re now standing here in silence. _Can’t anything ever fucking be easy?_ Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up to unclasp the helmet, the strap falling and grazing her collarbone. God help him, he knows they have to talk first but he can’t help leaning in and brushing his lips over the spot the strap had just touched. She shivers and he takes the helmet and hangs it from the handlebar with his own.   
  
“C’mon” is all he trusts himself to say. She follows him up the walk and watches while he locates the key under a rock; when the door creaks open, they enter the dark cabin. It’s been a while since Jax has been up here- some time before Tommy had gotten real sick had been the last time, he thinks. His family used to stay up here several times every summer, go fishing, swimming, grill out… since his dad had gotten wrapped up in Belfast and Tommy had died, the only person that’s been up here that he knows of is Piney. As a result, the cabin is more than a little musty, but there’s wood in the hopper next to the fireplace and it’s a quick decision for him to load it up and start a fire. When he finishes and the fire is glowing steadily, he turns to find Tara sitting on the slightly dusty, plaid couch, staring at him again. Jesus, he wishes she’d say something, _anything_ \- mainly because he has no idea where her head’s at and no idea where to start. Taking her hands, he sighs when her expression remains unchanged. This fucking mask she’s got on needs to go, and soon.   
  
“How’d you like the ride?” Her face softens, and a small smile appears.   
  
“It was wonderful. I always knew it would be.”

“Always?”   
  
“All you’ve wanted since you were five was a Harley and a kutte. I can’t say its all I wanted, but I spent a lot of time here as a kid imagining us all on Harleys, together. Tonight, we were- all three of us- and it was like coming home again.” He smiles at this, mainly because he’d felt the same way.

“I’ve been dreaming about that first ride my whole life, and it was even better than I’d imagined because you were with me.” Instead of the desired effect, her face seems to close off again.

“Jackson…” she looks away and appears to gather her thoughts before continuing. “What are we doing? I mean, what is this?”   
  
“This is the most perfect 24 hours of my life, Tara, even with all the bullshit with the party, my mom, the club-“ She’s shaking her head.  
  
“I didn’t ask you whether you _liked_ it, any fool could see that. I asked what this _is_ to you.” Jax snorts.

“I already _told_ you that, at the clubhouse- I want _you,_ Tara. The problem is, you were saying what _you_ wanted when we got interrupted but here I am telling you, once again, what it is _I_ want. This goes both ways, babe. _What do you want_?” He wants her to look at him, wants to try to get a read on what she’s thinking, but her eyes are focused somewhere over his shoulder and he can tell she’s struggling to keep the mask on.   
  
“What I want…” she laughs, humorlessly. “Do you know when the last time someone asked me what I _wanted_ was? I mean, besides what do I want for dinner, what do I want to wear, shit like that? It was probably before my mom died. Nobody asked me if I _wanted_ to get ferried over to Opie’s every time my dad got out of control. Nobody asked me if I _wanted_ to move to San Diego. Nobody even asked me if I wanted to come back.” Jax’s heart plummets. Jesus. Did she not want to be here? Is she trying to go back to San Diego? He can’t bring himself to ask her, but she seems to read his expression. “I wasn’t excited to come back here, Jackson. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t. I thought you and Opie had probably written me off, my dad’s not exactly the easiest person to live with, and I just sort of dreaded everything. I’m glad I’m here now, I promise, but it definitely wasn’t my choice. And now you’re asking me what I want, like I have a choice; and yet again, I really don’t. What happens if I tell you what I want and you can’t give it to me? Then we’ve ruined our friendship and we won’t have anything to show for it.” Frustrated, Jax shakes his head.   
  
“Goddammit, Tara. Opie’s no relationship counselor, but he made a damn good point. We can’t just ignore this. If we try, our friendship’s gonna be shot to hell anyway because I know now that I can’t just pick up and move on like nothing ever happened. Is that what you want? To say ‘hey, thanks for the makeout session, see you when I see you’? Because I can’t turn this off, Tara. I can’t just be your friend.” She winces and closes her eyes briefly.

“And that’s exactly what I _didn’t_ want to happen. You and Opie are my only friends, and now I’m about to cut that number in half. Besides, who do you think Opie will choose if this goes the wrong way?” Her eyes are filled with tears again, and the sight of it is like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the strong reaction he gets whenever he thinks she’s upset or hurting, but goddammit, she’s evading the issue.  
  
“Opie isn’t the issue. You still haven’t answered my question. What. Do you. _Want_?” Her eyes close, tears spilling onto her cheeks as he waits, barely able to breathe.   
  
“I want it all, Jackson. That’s the only way I do this. It has to be you and me, nobody else-“ He tries to reassure her that there hasn’t _been_ anybody else, but she puts a hand to his lips to shut him up. “I mean it. Nobody else. I’m not a croweater, I’m not some girl you can hook up with and forget about the next morning, and I’m not your _mother_. I won’t put up with it, and I _definitely_ won’t risk our friendship for anything less. If you don’t know if you can do that, this stops, now.” She releases a shaky breath, and meets his eyes for the first time in minutes. _Well?_ she seems to be asking. What she’s just said is everything he’d been obsessing about ever since she got back, and everything he’s been unsure of. But he knows there’s no going back, and there’s definitely no way he’s walking away from her now.   
  
“How many times do I have to tell you, Tara? _Only you_. That’s what I want. No croweaters, no other girls, just you. If you need me to put it another way, I will- I want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to ride to school with me in the morning, go out with me on the weekends, I want to hold your hand whenever I want. I want to _kiss_ you whenever you want me to. And yeah, I want more of you than you’re probably ready to give me, but I can wait because the last thing I want to do is to fuck this up like I do everything else. _I want it all._ Anything else?’ He’s barely able to breathe as she shakes her head yet again, and his thoughts race wildly. What the fuck else does he have to give her? “ _Anything else_?” he repeats, more urgently still, and suddenly she’s clutching his shirt and pulling him towards her.   
  
“Just this.”

Their lips crash together, tongues immediately seeking each other and Jax tastes the faint, metallic hint of blood but he’s not sure whose it is; it ceases to matter as her hands fist in his hair, keeping his mouth trapped against hers. She isn’t close enough, still half a foot away on the couch, and he grips her hips to drag her against him, threading his arms around her waist. They kiss and kiss, seconds ticking away into minutes, the only sound in the room the old cuckoo clock in the corner, the popping of the fire, and their breaths against each other. Jax is sure, finally, why he’s refused to let a croweater touch his lips if he can help it, why it had felt so wrong the few times it had happened; he can’t imagine feeling this intimate, giving himself so completely, to anyone but Tara. Her mouth fits so perfectly on his own that there’s no way anyone else could compare; his head fits so perfectly in the crook of her neck, it seems like it was made for him. Sucking kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and back up, he stops to lightly graze his teeth over her pulse point; he inhales the last of her groan, trapping the rest of her unformed words inside of him and answering with one of his own.

The kiss intensifies until it’s no longer enough; Jax pulls back to search her beautiful, beautiful face- eyes glazed and dilated in the firelight until they’re almost black, lips kiss-swollen and almost bruised. She’s still not close enough to him- _that might not even be possible_ ; he does the only thing that seems right and pulls her into his lap until she’s straddling him, her heat against his hardness. She seems to know what he needs- what _they_ need- and presses her hips into him, hands buried in his hair.   
  
“Jesus, Tara…” he barely manages to get the words out before her mouth is on his again, briefly, until she pulls back and shrugs out of his plaid shirt. It drops somewhere behind her as one of his hands ghosts its way up her side, back down again, and halts at the hem of her tank top. He busies himself with the strip of creamy skin between the dark denim of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt skin so smooth and silky. He sits up a bit to drag his tongue along her collarbone, dipping down towards the low-cut neckline of her shirt, before he rests his forehead against her skin, breathing hot into the space between the swell of her breasts. She presses a kiss to the top of his head before pushing backwards against his arms; reluctantly, he releases her and tries to even out his breathing.

She’s right- they should stop. Her hands unthread from his hair and leave him altogether- he feels so empty in that moment, he nearly groans… until he realizes where her hands are going. She traces along the strip of skin his hands had just left, grips the hem of her shirt, and pulls it up and over her head. He thinks he can hear it fall, softly, on top of his shirt, his senses are so focused on her. His palms are on her thighs- involuntarily, they twitch simultaneously once, twice, and then all restraint is gone and he’s smoothing them up her sides, around her bare back and to the clasp of her blue, lacy bra.

It’s ironic, he thinks, that she seems so sure of herself- waiting with eyes closed in anticipation-and he, Jackson Teller, the man that has had women at his beck and call since he was barely fifteen, is trembling so bad it takes him a few tries to unclasp her bra. When it finally loosens and falls forward, he pulls the straps down her arms and tosses it away. Now that she’s there in front of him, chest bared, he’s almost afraid to look. Instead, he focuses on her eyes- wide and trusting, dark hair falling across her forehead and half covering one, tendrils trailing down a smooth shoulder and just barely grazing a nipple in the midst of the gentle swell of her breast. His shaking hands rise, seemingly of their own volition, to skim her sides again but he centers them and palms the heavy weight of a breast in each, swiping a thumb across each nipple. She shudders and his breath hitches- fuck, he didn’t want to hurt her- but then her hands cover his own and her head tips back.   
  
“Ohh, Jackson…” Her voice is a whisper, but it imprints itself on his heart as he runs his thumbs over her puckered tips again. Christ, her nipples are almost as hard as he is. Almost. He wants nothing more than to know how hard he can make them, and he knows that part of it is a selfish pride thing but he wants her to feel everything he doesn’t know how to tell her. He should really ask permission, make sure she’s ready for what he wants to do next but then she blows him away for the umpteenth time and guides his head towards her. He’s in unfamiliar territory here, in more ways than one. He’s seen plenty of naked breasts in his day- fumblingly felt up a lot of them, even perfected his moves to caress them in time with whatever mouth was on his dick; it was all about him, which was the way he liked it. His mouth was off limits, then, but this… _this_ is about both of them.

Tentatively, he bends his head to press a kiss to one rosy tip and her fingers tighten in his hair. Encouraged, he uses the tip of his tongue to trace around the pink border, then the flat of it to wet a slowly widening circle. Tara practically folds in on him- her grip slackening as she exhales so deeply her chest sinks in- then rolls a shoulder, pressing herself into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to engulf the tip, pressing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue; he gives it several long pulls, swirling his tongue around the tip, before moving to the center of her chest. Tara whimpers at the loss of contact and he smiles against her skin.   
  
“Trust me babe” and then all words are gone again as he gives her other breast the same treatment. Without seeming to realize it, she’s rolling her hips against his, relieving some of the pressure that had been building in him for almost an hour now. She isn’t ready for sex, he thinks- hell, _he_ isn’t ready, at least not until he’s had time to talk to Chibs, Kozik, Opie, JT… fuckin _anybody_ so he can make sure he knows what the hell he’s doing. But if he knows anything, its that he doesn’t want to blow this. In the meantime, though, he’ll let her go as far as she wants to go; she’s apparently on the same page, as she fumbles desperately for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head. Breaths coming in hot puffs against the top of his head, she rocks her hips against his cock until he’s sure he’s about to come in his jeans. _Not happening babe._

Gently, he lifts her off his lap and pulls her down onto the couch half on top of him, their breathing settling a bit as he wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her soft breasts pressed into his much harder chest is indescribable, and he can’t help but rotate his shoulders a bit, memorize the sensation. She groans into the pillow behind his shoulder and lifts a knee to press between his legs. “Christ, babe, we have to stop or I’m gonna…” She drops a kiss on his shoulder and he can feel her smile against him.   
  
“I know. You don’t want… that?” _Holy shit_ , does he ever. He’s just not sure how to make it happen in a way that won’t freak her out- he’s used to blow jobs, but he knows there’s no way she’s ready to put her mouth on his cock. But _Christ_ , just the thought of it has him harder than ever, pulsating against her thigh.   
  
“You know I do, Tara. But we aren’t going to do anything you’re not ready for.” He’d been afraid of losing her before, but now he fucking knows that he has to tread carefully. She’s silent for a while, fingers stroking his shoulders, thigh pressing insistently against him until he’s almost desperate. Then-   
  
“Can I touch you, Jackson?” Jesus Christ, he almost comes right there. He frames her face with his hands, touches her forehead with his.   
  
“Are you sure?” She nods against him, her forehead moving his own.   
  
“I want you to show me.” And all he can say in return is-   
  
“Okay.” He rolls to his side, tucks her between himself and the back of the couch, and her hands drift down to his fly. He shakes his head and encircles her slender wrist with his fingers, dragging it away. She blinks at him, confused. “Nuh uh, babe. You first.” Jesus, with anyone else, he’d try to play off how new this was to him- he has about zero idea how this is supposed to work because every single one of his other encounters had been about him- but with Tara, being too practiced is the other edge of the sword. He doesn’t need her reminded of all the others, or thinking this was something he did all the time. He pops the button in her fly and lowers her zipper, sliding the backs of his fingers inside her lacy panties to play in the short nest of hair that resides there; her breath hitches in anticipation.  “You’re gonna have to tell me what to do, here, babe.” The look of shock that crosses her face almost makes him laugh- almost.   
  
“You mean you’ve never…” He’s shaking his head before she trails off.   
  
“Nope. So, like I said, you’ll have to tell me what you like. What do you do, when you… you know?” His fingers don’t still, threading in and out of the silky hair below. She blushes furiously; it’s almost impossible to see in the firelight, but he can see her cheeks tint.  
  
“I… I’ve never… well, except last night, a little, but that was only… I don’t know.” He had frozen at _except last night_ \- she’d touched herself last night? Christ, at least he wasn’t the only one. Then she was saying “…just touch me Jackson” and he’s back out of his head, slipping a finger below the curls, barely parting her slit- _Jesus, he didn’t know she’d be this warm and wet-_ and running it experimentally down, then back up. She moans almost instantly and pushes her hips into his hand. A few more trips down, then up; down, then up, and he delves a bit deeper to find her slippery nub. She gasps and shudders deeply at his touch.   
  
“Did you like that?” He knows she liked it- he’s no idiot- but he needs her to _tell_ him.   
  
“ _Oh my God_ , Jackson…” He chuckles.   
  
“I told you, you’re gonna have to _tell_ me, babe. Tell me what you like.” He halts his hand, looking at her expectantly.   
  
“Do that again…” Her eyes flutter closed as he repeats the movement, adding another finger and circling, over and over, until she’s panting against him. He remembers something Kozik or someone had mentioned once, and moves lower to run a finger around her entrance.   
  
“Is it OK if I-“  
  
“Please, Jackson…”  He needs no more encouragement and slips a finger inside her, twisting it experimentally. She bucks her hips against his hand, and he adds another, drawing them back out, pressing in again, and again. _Holy shit_. He can feel her tightening around him, clamping down on his fingers as if she never wants this to end and he can’t blame her- he doesn’t want it to end, either. He’s lost in the way she’s moving, both inside and out; so lost that he doesn’t feel her open his fly and jolts in shock when she wraps her delicate hand around him.   
  
“Hoooly shit” That’s all he can think of to say and though he doesn’t mean to, his hand falls still, two fingers buried to the hilt inside her. His brain seems to have ceased it’s functioning, and it’s a minute before he realizes she’s whispering in his ear.   
  
“Show me, Jackson.” He blinks, rouses the few functioning blood cells that are left in his brain and focuses; he awakens his free hand to wrap around hers and move her hand up his shaft. Together, they stroke him until she becomes more practiced and his hand falls away, shuddering. It takes everything in him to focus on what he’s doing, but there’s no fucking way he’s coming without her. Tara deserves more than he’s given any croweater; he’s already given her more of himself than he had anyone else, but it won’t matter- at least not to him- if he’s selfish in the end. He resumes his deep strokes and the moan she emits is so sexy it’s almost the end of him; he feels the familiar sensation at the base of his spine and realizes just how close he is. In a desperate, last-ditch effort to bring her along with him, he presses against her bud with the rough pad of his thumb and rubs in counterpoint to his fingers. As if that was the only thing that was missing, he feels her clench around him even stronger than before and all of a sudden she’s shaking, whispering his name against his skin, then murmuring, then shouting it as her shudders grow uncontrollable. It’s the hottest thing he’s witnessed in his young life and before its over he’s coming harder than he thought possible and mumbling words he doesn’t have the wherewithal to recognize into her hair.   
  
And when its over, when they’re laying side by side and breathless, lips brushing, she asks him a question he hadn’t seen coming any more than he had anything else that had happened in the last hour or so.  
  
“Did you mean it…” The look on his face must have revealed just how much of what he’d just said had been conscious- which was zip- because after a moment she clarifies. “…when you said you loved me?” And its an indicator of just how lost  he is that he doesn’t even hesitate before he says-  
  
“I think so.” She accepts this- which is good because it’s all he has to give at the moment- and blows his mind one last time for the day when she says-   
  
“ _I think I might love you, too_.”


	15. Ch 15

Tara awakens slowly but doesn’t open her eyes,  disappointed to be waking from a dream that had been nothing short of amazing. She’d dreamed of Jackson for the second night in a row, and he’d not only kissed her as he had Friday night like she’d been wanting since the second his lips had left hers- he’d touched her, let her touch him. She curls in on herself, trying to fall back into the dream so she can relive it- the feeling of his mouth on her nipple, his long fingers on her most sensitive spot- _inside_ her… when she feels an arm tighten around her. Stiffening, she feels the warmth at her back, hot breath on her neck, and her eyes fly open. Stifling the panic, she holds as still as possible, eyes resting on the pine nightstand next to the bed she’s slowly realizing isn’t her own. On it is a photo encased in a green painted frame and she recognizes its subjects; John, Gemma, Tommy and Jackson Teller smile back at her- JT holding a slew of fishing rods, Gemma carrying a chubby 2-year-old version of Tommy, a slightly gawky Jackson proudly holding up a rather small fish. They’re all slightly dirty, a little sunburnt, but _happy_. She briefly wonders if this was taken the summer after she left, but then more pressing matters require her focus. _Jackson_.

The memory of what had happened last night comes rushing back- the kissing, the touching… and the words he’d said after what she now remembers was not a dream. _I love you, Tara. Love you. Love…_ she’d been coming down from the peak of her very first orgasm and hadn’t been sure of what he was saying in the middle of his own climax until he’d repeated it over and over against her hair, trailing off as the full body shudder forced him into silence. She’d nearly let it go, had been tempted to keep his words to herself- partially because she wasn’t at all sure he’d been aware of what he was saying. But that wasn’t how she wanted to spend the first night of their burgeoning relationship- analyzing his feelings, silently worrying he hand’t meant what he’d said- and the words had tumbled out. She had to know. His first conscious admission of love hadn’t been a grand, sweeping proclamation, sure; it was good enough, though, for a week into their reunion and just over an hour into their relationship. She’d answered in kind, but she’s more than _pretty sure_ she loves him. For now, though, being his girlfriend- more than she’d expected this time yesterday- will do. They’ll deal with putting a name on their feelings another day.

For now, she’s lying in a bed at the SAMCRO cabin- Jackson’s arms wrapped around her. She notes his heavy hand on her bare breast and realizes for the first time that she’s sleeping in only her panties. Her mind travels back to the heavy, almost drugged feeling she’d had as they’d lay there on the couch, heartbeats settling like so many leaves drifting from a tree; Jackson had eventually reached for his button up shirt and extracted her hand from his boxers to clean them up, rolling the shirt into a ball and dropping it back onto the floor near the couch. She’d been drifting off- brought back from sleep only by his occasional kisses- when he’d stood and helped her up with both hands and led her down the short hallway. They’d both removed their jeans and then crashed onto the bed together, wordlessly assuming a position that felt like they’d practiced it for years- Tara curled onto her side, Jackson behind her, his fingers laced in hers and curled towards her heart. At some point, he’d pulled the afghan at the foot of the bed over them, and they had apparently slept like the dead- it’s still tucked up under each of their arms and they’re in the last position she recalled before she’d finally given in to sleep.

Jackson’s chest is warm on her back and she wonders if there’s a better feeling in this world; immediately, she realizes that there _is_ one that’s just a little better, and he’d been the one to give her that one, too. As her mind wanders back to what they’d done together, how she’d asked him to show her what he liked, the sounds she’d made, Tara realizes she should probably be feeling embarrassed; girls weren’t supposed to let their boyfriends touch them like that, at least not until they’d made them wait- she wans’t sure how long, but she was pretty sure it was more than a few minutes after they’d made it official. You also weren’t supposed to admit that you didn’t know what you were doing, and you _definitely_ weren’t supposed to admit you loved them right off the bat. Somehow, though, she feels no shame, no regret. She’d known Jackson so long it hardly felt like they’d only really been dancing around this relationship for a week; their connection felt deeper than that, like they’d been somehow moving towards this ever since they were six and he’d kissed her on the cheek after she’d fallen out of the treehouse in his back yard. So, no, she can’t bring herself to regret anything that had happened- as long as being Jackson’s girlfriend is as fulfilling as being his friend, she’s willing to see what comes next.

That decided, Tara’s relaxed and nearly drifting off to sleep again when she feels him stirring behind her- in more ways than one; his groin is pressed against her backside and feeling him against her again is nothing short of a turn-on. She smiles to herself and turns in his arms until she’s facing him, their noses nearly touching as his eyes drift open, then back shut. He smiles, rubbing her nose with his own.   
  
“Hi.” She can hear the smile in his voice, still gravelly with sleep.   
  
“Hi,” she returns, angling her head to steal a kiss, which he returns drowsily. His hand drifts up to stroke her cheek as their tongues mingle, gently. When it’s over, her heart fluttering along with his eyelids, he mumbles against her lips.   
  
“So… you and me?” His smile is just as slow, just as easy as the kiss they’d shared, but it morphs into that full, dazzling, Jax Teller grin as she reaffirms his words.

“Me and you.”   
  
“We’re really doing this.” It isn’t a question- she’s not even sure he’s addressing her so she doesn’t respond; it almost sounds like he’s convincing himself that this is really happening. She doesn’t blame him; she’s been doing the same ever since she woke up. His arms tighten around her again, drawing her bare chest into his, and their legs intertwine. In this moment, with Jackson wrapped around her, Tara’s as happy as she thinks she’s ever been. No doubt, something will come along to change all that, but she’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. He kisses her, then, another slow, shallow-but-wet kiss that gradually deepens until he’s rolling half on top of her to grind his chest against hers. He kisses her chin, then down her neck before sucking kisses across her collarbone. _God._ If she had choose to do one thing for the rest of her life, kissing Jackson would definitely be on the short list. He nuzzles her breast and she’s reminded of another candidate for that list as he mouths the underside of it, his hand drawing up to palm her other one. He rolls one nipple between his fingers, one between his lips and Tara loses the ability to lie still- she can’t help pressing her shoulders to the bed or threading her fingers in her hair. He works her nipple with his lips, then his tongue, alternating suckling kisses with deep pulls until she glides a hand down to his jaw to nudge him towards her other breast. The one he’s just left still carries a sheen of moisture and a rough thumb massages it into her skin. He chances a graze of his teeth and she jackknifes off the bed, almost violently, the sound escaping her lips unfamiliar to them both. Immediately, his head bobs up, concern rife in his eyes.   
  
“Shit, Tara, I’m sorry.”   
  
“No… it isn’t that. _God_ , Jackson, do that again.” Grinning, he does as she asks and returns his attention to her nipple. He alternates slow swirls of the tongue with a light scrape of his teeth and, again, she lurches off the bed. Abruptly, he pulls away to throw the afghan off them and she whimpers at the loss of contact; he smiles and she’s not sure if he’s smiling at the sound she’s just made or at the sight of the nipples he’s left wet and rosy, puckering with the sudden chill. She settles on the latter, as he pitches upward to bestow a kiss on each before easing his way back down, eyes locked on hers. As he nears her panties, she realizes her limit and panics, a bit- all of her earlier scorn at the thought of making him wait vanishes as she realizes it isn’t about some girl rule but something she just isn’t ready for. He interprets whatever facial expression she must have on her face correctly and stops, shaking his head.   
  
“I promise, Tara, nothing you’re not ready for. I oinly want to take these off so I can see you when I touch you like I did last night. But if you want we can stop right now.” His face, full of concern, holds none of the anger or frustration she’d always thought a man’s face would show when he’s told no. She could tell him to stop, and she knows now he’d accept it without a second thought. She doesn’t really want him to _stop_ , though- so long as he’s only doing what he’d already done last night.   
  
“It’s okay. I want you to touch me, Jackson, just… touching is all, okay?” Nodding earnestly, his hands leave her sides and she realizes he thinks she’d meant she wanted to leave her panties on, too. The idea of him looking at her- all of her- is at once intimidating and erotic. It takes seconds for her to make the decision and slip her own thumbs under the lace edges of her panties, but his hands still hers.   
  
“Let me do it. Please?” Jackson’s looking at her with what she thinks is a mixture of pleading, lust, and uncertainty, and the combination prompts her to smile at him before slipping her hands down her hips to the bed beneath her. He hesitates a moment before replacing her hands with his own, hooking a finger on each side and tugging gently. “Lift up” he orders, the smirk back in place on his face- _now that he feels like he’s back in control_ , she thinks. It disappears as he skims them down her legs and tosses them away. She realizes in this moment that again, she should probably be nervous, embarrassed, _something…_ she’s naked before him for the first time; but his eyes are glazed with lust and a bit of awe as they study her intently. She doesn’t feel awkward, embarrassed, or self conscious, she feels… He swallows, hard, before speaking, “God, Tara… you’re so beautiful.” _Yes, that’s it_ , she decides- she feels beautiful;  _Jackson_ makes her feel that way.

He bolts up to kiss her again, his fingers trailing in the soft patch of curls he’s just uncovered, and this time he finds the center of all her sensation immediately- stroking her. She inhales sharply, stealing his breath for a moment, and he smiles against her mouth.   
  
“I think I’ve found a few things you like” he breathes, his words drifting into her mouth, “and I’m gonna find them all eventually, babe.” His words twist something deep inside her and she feels the anticipation that’s been building since she woke up this morning spill over and warm her center. She’d never been this turned on by words before, but maybe it was because she knows he’ll back them up. He proves her right as he dips his head to taste her nipple again, already putting into practice the things he’d learned earlier. She doesn’t remember Jackson being a good student- though he’s one of the smarter people she knows- but holy shit if he hadn’t learned quickly when it comes to giving her pleasure. Lips, tongue, teeth... Jackson’s hot, wet mouth is plucking at each nipple in turn, while a long finger tests her entrance below. She pushes her hips up in welcome, and he sinks the finger into her wet heat, murmuring this time against a nipple- “Christ Tara, you’re so wet…” He trails off to lick a path across her chest to her other nipple as he withdraws his finger; he adds another just as he engulfs the tip in his mouth and suckles it. She’s writhing on the bed, unable to control her movements when he pauses, eliciting another whimper. “What do you need, Tara? Tell me how to make you come.”   
  
“Just don’t stop… please…and touch me like you did last night.” Immediately, Jackson’s mouth is back on her nipple, his fingers sliding in and out of her in a delicious rhythm she can’t help matching with her hips. Briefly, she wonders if any of the other girls had lost control like this, but then she reminds herself that she’s different- _they’re_ different- and in the end she doesn’t much care if she’s making a fool of herself. She can feel herself rising, slowly, towards the top of a precipice and she wants nothing more than this to last forever; she tries to focus on her fist clutching the old, hooked bedspread, her fingers on Jackson’s cheek, the way the muscles in his jaw tense as his suckling kisses turn to longer pulls, the way his messy blonde hair looks against the slope of her breast… _Shit_ , _this is the wrong train of thought_ \- she can feel herself teetering on the edge too soon; suddenly, Jackson’s thumb joins the fingers below and roughly strokes the swollen bud that he’d been circling around since she’d asked him to touch her, and she’s coming apart. All of her breath is directed at the small cries coming from somewhere in her hollowed chest and she’s sure she’s inhaling nothing but carbon dioxide. He doesn’t stop touching her as she shudders and as the final “Jacksonnnnnn” passes her lips, he rocks up to cover her mouth with his and breathe in his own name.   
  
It’s when they’re lying there afterwards, Jackson half across her body again, that she notices the look in his eyes- as if she’s the only one in the world. He doesn’t look away except to lean in and press kisses to her lips, her jaw, her temple, and the need to prove that she feels the same way about _him_ is suddenly overwhelming. She pushes gently against his chest and though a brief cloud of worry crosses his face, he dutifully rolls off her and takes her hand. His concern seems to grow when she removes her hand from his and places her hands on his chest. He raises his eyebrows, wordlessly asking her what’s wrong. Smiling, she answers the question he’d barely asked- “I want to see you, too.”   
  
“Tara…” his voice is hoarse from either sleep or anticipation, “I told you, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” His eyes search hers, apparently unwilling to let her talk herself into doing something she’ll regret. She does her best to look at him steadily, reassure him that she wants this almost as much as he does.   
  
“I want to do this for you, just like you did for me. Except it’s not _all_ for you.” She can’t help laughing at herself, softly, as her face reddens for the first time; Jackson looks confused. “I want to see…” And she does-it was dark last night even with the fire, and they’d settled- with limited space on the couch and in the darkness- with touches inside underwear and loosened jeans. She wants to see everything she’d felt the night before; only, she’s not sure how many more times she can bear to ask him if he continues this ridiculous mission to protect her. “It’s a little late to be a gentleman, Teller.” The tension is broken as he laughs; as it dies away, she hooks a finger on each side of his boxers and tugs, lightly. He raises his hips and lets her pull the boxers down his legs and toss them off the edge of the bed; he isn’t bothered in the slightest by being naked in front of her, she thinks- but then plenty of girls have seen what he’s working with. Pushing that thought away, she sits back on her heels to take in all of him, finally. Blonde hair- on the long side- pieces sticking up all over the place from sleep and her fingers, striking blue eyes the likes of which she’s seen on nobody else, soft lips still a little flushed and swollen from their earlier kisses, a chest more muscular than most teenagers which she longs to press her cheek to, arms capped by big hands and long fingers she’s sure will be the subject of most of her fantasies going forward, an actual six pack she’s only seen in magazines, an arrow of fine hair drawing her eye to the part of him she’s just uncovered.   
  
He looks longer, thicker than she remembers from last night. She swallows, intimidated by the thought of taking him in her mouth; even more overwhelming is the thought of him pushing inside her.. but those aren’t thoughts for today. Today, she has free reign to touch and ecplore him, and that’s what she intends to do. Tentatively, she crawls back up the bed to lie next to him, propping herself up on an elbow. She presses several kisses across his chest, flicks her tongue out to wet a nipple, bites lightly on his shoulder, leaving a reddening mark that makes her smile. She marks his neck in the same way and he suddenly groans, his chest vibrating against her.   
  
“Touch me…please…” Somehow, now that the moment is here, she’s more nervous than she was the night before- actually seeing how solid he is for her is at once arousing and a little terrifying. Slowly, deliberately, she skims her hand down his chiseled chest and over his abs to play her fingers in the patch of hair at his base. When he closes his eyes in anticipation, she runs her hands to the soft sacs below, exploring with almost medical diligence and eliciting a rough exhalation of breath. Satisfied with her explorations, she runs a finger from base to tip, producing a shudder and a groan from Jackson. “Please, baby…” _So he’s not opposed to begging._ Smiling and encircling him with a finger and thumb, she ghosts her hand up and down his length; he sharply angles his head to one side and sucks in a breath. She continues for a few passes, feather-light and watching his face intently, marveling at how the skin she’s sure is th smoothest in the world glides ovrer the steel beneath. He looks almost frustrated, turning his head, clenching his jaw… and then his hand is circling her wrist and dragging it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm before giving it several long, wet lashes with his tongue. Before she can ask, he’s placing it back on himself- his hand covering hers, tightening her fist, helping her stroke him firmly. His hand falls away as she picks up the rhythm on her own, a steady pace that has Jackson arching underneath her. A hand comes up to fist in her hair, dragging her back down to his mouth.

She’s been kissing him only a few seconds when he groans into her mouth. _God_ , if she’d ever felt more powerful in her life, she isn’t sure when. She has the most desired boy at Charming High- the most singularly attractive person she’s ever seen in person- laid out on a bed, groaning and shaking beneath her. The kiss becomes too intense to maintain and then he’s mumbling a stream of words against her lips. “Faster, Tara… fas- shit… Like that, babe. I’m… I’m gonna…ohmygod Tara…”  and he’s coming, words devolving into a groan that rips out of his chest, completely out of his control as Tara feels his warmth on her hand. She collapses next to him as he recovers, taking deep, steadying breaths.   
  
“Jesus Christ, Tara.” He scrubs over his face with both hands, then half rolls over to retrieve several tissues from the nightstand on his side. He cleans both of them up- grinning sheepishly as he drops the tissue into the wastebasket- and flops back down on the bed, tugging her onto his chest. Her fingers splay over his heart as he wraps an arm around her and briefly kisses her hair.   
  
“Jackson?” she says, after they’d lay in satisfied silence a while.  
  
“Mmhmm,” his voice rumbles under her ear.

“I’ve never done that with anyone before… any of it.”   
  
“I know-“ he squeezes her again, “-but you’re getting damn good at it.” She can’t help laughing as she slaps him in the chest.   
  
“Jackass.” Their laughter dies down a moment later and she grows thoughtful again. “I just wanted you to know.” He draws her chin up to look at him, eyes serious.   
  
“You and I both know I’m no innocent. But I’d never touched anyone… _there,_ before, and I just couldn’t stand my mouth on anyone, anywhere. But I broke my own rules for you. And you touching me… Christ, Tara, it felt like the first time. As far as I’m concerned it _was_ the first time, because it was you.” Jesus, that feels good to hear. “Another thing- I know I’ve built up a pretty serious reputation for myself, at school, at the clubhouse… but I didn’t _earn_ all of it.” She’s pretty sure she knows what he’s referring to- Red had hinted at it- but suddenly, she doesn’t want to ask. All of this is easier if she can pretend at least one of them knows what they’re doing. She silences him with a kiss, and then groans, stretching.   
  
“What time is it?” Jackson rolls over to check the ancient bedside clock he’s shocked is still working, then lets out a groan of his own.   
  
“Almost eight. We better get back.”  
  
“Can’t we just stay here? Live off the land, catch some fish… you look like quite the fisherman, Jackson.” Smiling, she nods towards the photo on the bedside table. His smile fades, affection replacing the mirth In his eyes.   
  
“That was the last time we all came up here. Tommy got real sick before the next summer came around, and then my dad had club business in Belfast…” he trails off, undoubtedly thinking about that summer. “I wish he’d been here to see me get my bike.” Tara squeezes his arm, kisses his temple.   
  
“I know.” There’s not much else she can say- she knows what it’s like to miss someone on the most important days of your life, and there’s nothing anyone can say to make it right, either.   
  
“We were happy there,” Jackson muses, absently. “Maybe we can be, again.” Abruptly, he stands up, pulling her by the hand and into his chest. “ _You_ make me happy, Tara.” Smiling, he kisses her again- just a shallow peck this time- before gathering his boxers and her panties from the floor. He hands them to her, that cocky Teller smirk appearing on his face. “Better put these on before I change my mind and we get distracted again. We better head out.” His face falls before he pulls up his boxers. “I have to explain to Gemma why I ditched my own birthday party.” She frowns at him as she threads her legs into her panties and hikes them up.   
  
“What about JT?”   
  
“Nah, he told me last night to take my girl for a ride. Also told me not to fuck this up.” The smirk is back, full force as his arms encircle her once again. “How’d I do so far?” Against her better judgment, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him again.   
  
“Pretty good, Teller. And you might not have as tough a time with Gemma as you think. She basically told me yesterday that she wouldn’t mind seeing us together, but that she doesn’t want me to break your heart.” His eyes grow serious once more.   
  
“Problem is, I think you’re th only one who could.” Sh doesn’t have time to ask him what he means; he gives her ass a playful smack and half shoves her into the hallway. “What you’re gonna do _today_ is get us in trouble. Get dressed, I’ll straighten up in here and then we gotta go.”   
  
They slip back out the front door and Jackson replaces the key under the rock; Tara rolls her eyes at SAMCRO’s idea of security- but then who the hell would rob a house belonging to an MC? As she gets on the bike behind him, she’s struck again with how right it feels; she hadn’t had a chance to really enjoy the ride last night, but she damn sure intended to enjoy this one. Jackson turns from the blacktop onto the main highway and gives it some throttle- she squeals and tightens her hold on him, and realizes for the first time in months that she really is happy.   
  
They pass Opie’s house first; Ope’s truck is out front, his bike in the driveway. Tara feels the first flutters of nerves as she thinks of telling Opie they’re together; he’d been encouraging her to make things right with Jackson all along- apparently had been doing the same to him- but the thought of actually having the conversation, changing the dynamics of their friendship, is daunting now that it’s a reality. Her nerves are further heightened when they near her house to find the Cutlass in the drive. _Shit._ How long has her father been home? More importantly, how the hell is she going to explain the fact that she’s just getting home at nearly nine in the morning, on the back of Jackson Teller’s bike, no less? Jackson parks along the street and turns to her, worry etched onto his face- he’s clearly had the same concerns she has.   
  
“What do we do, Tara? You want me to come in? Or is it best for you if I stay away?” She considers this a moment- she’d like nothing better to walk in her front door and lie her ass off, tell her father she’d been at a sleepover with a friend. She just knows he wouldn’t buy it- not when he’s likely already heard Jackson’s bike pull up and not when he’d spent her childhood watching her run around with the boys. Sighing, she makes her decision.   
  
“Just walk me to the door. Please. I’m not going to lie to him, at least not about who I was with. Things will be easier going forward if I’m straight with him now.” He nods, briskly.   
  
“Okay. _Shit_. Let’s do this.”   
  
They leave the helmets on the handlebars and head up the side walk to the kitchen door. She can see her father sitting at the table, a mug of coffee and a pint of Jim Beam on the table in front of him. Reluctantly, Tara opens the door, stopping a couple feet inside, Jackson behind her. Rick wastes no time with pleasantries.  
  
“Where you been, girl?” His voice is even, controlled, but cold.   
  
“Last night was Jackson’s birthday party, Dad. We were at the clubhouse. It got late and everyone just sort of crashed.” Best not to tell him they’d been off alone somewhere, though it’s highly possible he’s guessed the truth; Tara frantically wonders if Jackson’s marked her anywhere visible. Rick’s eyes narrow as he responds.  
  
“Yeah, I’m aware. I talked to Piney about an hour ago when he rolled in- he said the same. He _also_ said he wasn’t sure where the two a’ you slept, said he was sure you were there somewhere but he hadn’t seen ya most of the night.” _Shit_. Quickly, Jackson speaks up.   
  
“We were on the rooftop, Mr. Knowles. Tara, Ope, a couple of the guys and I. Piney took off early like he always does, went back to the clubhouse this morning to get the truck, so I’m not surprised he missed us. Anyway, a few of us slept up there, there were so many other charters there, the rest of the place was crowded.” It’s a little disturbing, the way the lie rolls off Jackson’s tongue, the way he looks her father dead in the eye as he says it… even the way her father’s expression seems to soften the tiniest bit; its that fucking Jax Teller charm, and it’s scary to realize just how easily he can lie his ass off and just how believable he is.   
  
“I don’t like it, Tara- you don’t need to be partying at the clubhouse at barely sixteen-“ he puts a hand up to stop her protest, “-but I understand it was the boy’s birthday. _This time_. But you stay away from there, our family name ain’t the best in Charming and maybe that’s my fault, but I don’t need people thinking I can’t even control my own daughter.” Tara rolls her eyes; of _course_ he cares about his reputation as a father now, when he had barely shown his face at the house all week. Rick turns his attention to Jackson. “You got anything you need to say? I admit, I wasn’t surprised when I found out she was with you and the Winston boy, you three always were off together somewhere. But my little girl grew up, and staying out all night with boys ain’t something any father likes to deal with. Especially boys with your reputation.” _Holy shit. He actually went there_. Nonplussed, Jackson blinks back at him.   
  
“Sir?” At this, Rick blows out a huff of air.   
  
“Don’t suck up to me, boy, it ain’t attractive.” _So Jackson’s Teller charm only went so far_ , Tara thinks, a little amused despite herself. _Too bad_. “Mr. Knowles is fine. Anyway, don’t act like you aren’t aware of the reputation the Sons have in this town when it comes to the law. Or the reputation they- _you-_  have when it comes to the women, for that matter.” He pauses, eyes Jackson with an assessing glare;. “You watch yourself on both accounts, you hear? Tara on the back of your bike ain’t something I’m comfortable with, and you better not let that club drag her down with you.” _Fucking great._   
  
“Dad, I’m making my own decisions here. Jackson and I are dating; we’ll stay out of trouble, but I won’t stop seeing him because of you. “ Rick’s eyes dart back to Jackson.   
  
“That the truth?” Jackson nods. “What, cat got your tongue? You need my daughter to speak for you, boy?” Jackson’s hands clench; Tara knows his short fuse must be about to blow, but he just shakes his head.   
  
“No, I don’t. And, yes, we’re dating. I’ll treat her well because I care about her. That, you can count on.” He stares right back at Rick, as if challenging him to question his statement. Oookayy, time to end this conversation. She reaches to squeeze Jackson’s hand.

“You go ahead and go, I’m sure you have things to take care of at the clubhouse. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?” He takes another glance at Rick’s disapproving glare and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.   
  
“Alright. I’ll see you then. And I’ll call you tonight.” Without a look back, he disappears through the door. Tara sighs. If there’s one thing she wants even less than her father yelling at Jackson, its to deal with him alone.   
  
“If you think I’m going to stand by while you become one of their goddamn _croweaters_ …” Rick doesn’t finish the thought; rather, he tips the bottle of Jim Beam into his coffee and stares at her, coldly. Tara fights back tears and has to swallow around the lump in her throat before she responds.  
  
“Dad. That won’t happen, I’m with Jackson and _only_ Jackson, we’re not even together like _that_. And I’m not going to let you turn our relationship into something to be ashamed of; because _I’m_ not ashamed. We care about each other.” He stares at her a minute longer, like he wants to say something else, but stops himself. Downing the last of his coffee, he picks up the Jim Beam before rising from the chair and heading towards his room. Halfway down the hallway, he tosses over his shoulder-  
  
“I’m goin' to Lodi after lunch. Don’t wait up, but you best sleep here tonight or we got a problem. And that goddamn bike _better not_ be in my driveway past 10.” His door slams, and Tara’s left in the kitchen, alone. Well, that had gone significantly worse than expected.

Jax rolls by the Winston house to see that Opie’s bike is no longer in the driveway. _Shit_. The only place he could be is the clubhouse, a place Jax wants to avoid as long as possible; God knows how many members are still there, let alone Gemma and JT. Tara had eased his mind a bit about Gemma’s outlook on he and Tara’s relationship but if anyone’s unpredictable- volatile even- its his mother. He also doesn’t think a meet with Harley and Davidson themselves would have excused his absence from his party in her eyes; plus, that’s two nights in a row he’s split on her birthday plans for him. He sighs. _Yep._ She’s gonna be pissed. At least he has his bike, now. He’d enjoyed having Tara on the back and it really does feel like something’s missing right now without her back there, but he puts the bike through its paces and the ride over to the clubhouse is the most enjoyable thing he’s done with his clothes on since kissing Tara. The thought of her manages to put a shit-eating grin back on his face and as he rolls onto the Teller-Morrow lot for the first time, it just gets wider. His mom might be pissed at him, but today is his first full day owning a Dyna and having the most beautiful girl in the world as his girlfriend; not even Gemma is going to ruin it.

He parks towards the back of the lot- further away, even, than the Prospects- and wistfully eyes the patched members spots right up near the clubhouse. He’s got the entire lot- deserted on a Sunday except the member’s bikes- to cross before he reaches the clubhouse doors, and the chances of Gemma spotting him from the office are high. Everyone must be in Church, he decides, because usually there’s at least one or two guys out smoking on the picnic tables or tinkering with something in one of the bays. What he really needs is to find Opie, convince him to leave ASAP, and beat it the hell out of here before anyone can give him shit about riding off with Tara last night.   
  
No such luck. The moment he steps into the main room at the clubhouse, he’s faced with almost the entirety of SAMCRO plus a few stragglers from Tacoma and about half of Uncle Jury’s crew- all seem to be half awake, and still half-drunk. In fact, there are still several members and croweaters passed out in various states of undress. The only ones absent seem to be his parents, and he’s sure he’ll be blessd with their presence soon enough. Worse yet, the guys immediately erupt into catcalls.   
  
“Jackie Boyyyy! You ride off inta tha sunset with tha’ girl, did ya?”  
  
“His bike ain’t the only thing she rode!”  
  
“Goddamn, to be sixteen again. I swear to God, the pussy’s worth the whole ‘can’t buy cigarettes’ thing.”

“Hey Jax, she open the gates of heaven, or naw?”

“Lookit his puppy dog face, he’s gettin’ pissed right now. No way she put out.”   
  
“Shut the fuck up, all a’ ya!” A full bottle slams onto the bar top, sloshing Patron onto the bar mat. The few laughs and protests that follow are quickly silenced by a meaty fist punding alongside it “That ain’t some goddamn croweater you’re talkin’ about. Besides, half of ya couldn’t’ve pulled a girl like that in yer _prime_ , let alone now. Assholes.” Piney looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes alight on Jax and the sneer on his face intensifies. “You. Outside. Now.” _Shit. Goddamn shit._ Again, he’d failed to factor Piney into the Tara situation, and after his warning yesterday morning, its clear that’s about to bite him in the ass. Opie gives him a sympathetic shrug. _Yeah, thanks for sticking up for me, bro._

Outside, Piney slams the bottle onto the picnic table for good measure and lights a cigarette. _Christ_ , what he wouldn’t give for one right now- something to do, something to focus on while the old man rips him a new one- but he doesn’t dare ask Piney to bum one. It’s a few furious drags before the old man’s glare turns to him.   
  
“What’d I say to you yesterday, Jackson? Did ya hear me, or are your ears going even worse than mine are?” He doesn’t let Jax respond, just continues with the rhetorical questions. “Did I _say_ neither of ya better be pantin’ after that girl? Did I _say_ to either leave her the hell alone or look out for her like gentlemen? Or am I just losing my goddamn mind?” Jax wants to respond to that last question in the affirmative, point out that Piney hadn’t really said _any_ of that shit- in fact, he’d just said Opie’d better not be trying anything with her ass, and that went for Jax, too. Then again, he, Jax, had gone and blown even that most basic set of instructions to hell, so silence seems to be the best option, here. Piney’s pointing at him with a cigarette. “That girl has been through enough shit, and she deserves better than to be treated like all the others.” At this, the third time this morning someone else has basically referred to Tara as a croweater, he loses his shit.   
  
“Goddammit, Piney. She _is_ different from all the others, and I’m _treating_ her that way. I care about her. In fact, I’m one of the only ones that seems to fucking realize that. All the rest of you have done is rag on me not to hurt her, but you have no goddamn idea how I treat her. ” Piney continues like he hadn’t even spoken.  
  
“Hell, Rick’s furious- you have any idea how much trouble you just caused her at home?” Even cut off in the middle of his tirade, Jax closes his mouth, guiltily. The old man has him, there. Rick Knowles is going to be a problem, and th last thing he wants to do is make Tara’s home life even shittier. But still… he _cares_ about Tara- probably even more than that, though he’s not about to share that info with anyone until he’s sure about it- and who is anyone to make assumptions about how he treats her?   
  
“I haven’t treated her like a croweater since she’s been in town. I also haven’t _looked_ at a goddamn croweater since she’s been in town. She’s different. _We’re_ different…” Piney shakes his head.   
  
“I love ya like my own son, Jackson, but I see how you are around these girls-“   
  
“Give it a rest, old man.” JT’s voice comes from directly behind him- he’d been so engrossed in trying to figure out how to explain himself to Piney without revealing any of he and Tara’s more intimate activities, he hadn’t even heard his father approaching. Jax keeps his eyes fixed on Piney’s, who seems anything but cowed but takes a pull of the Patron instead of speaking. “Jackson’s been in love with Tara since they were in kindergarten and I had to bring his scrawny ass over to her house on Valentine’s Day to give her a goddamn macaroni necklace; all because he’d been out sick and missed the class party. _She’s_ been in love with _him_ since at least the second grade, when she lied her ass off to cover for him after you busted he and Ope with those fireworks. The police had already called Gemma, but there she was on our front step, taking all the blame, begging us not to take away his bike.” _Jesus, dad…_ JT’s hand claps him on the shoulder, squeezes hard, before continuing. “My son takes after me in a lot of ways, and chasing women ain’t the least of it. But I trust him that Tara’s the one he wants and we need to let the two a’ them find their own way. Besides, you really want her with some outsider townie kid?” Piney gives his head one firm shake and grimly stubs out his cigarette.   
  
“Besides, Jackson cutting out of his own goddamn birthday to give little Miss Tara a ride around town says a lot, doesn’t it?” Jesus Christ, he hadn’t known Gemma was back there, too. He turns around to see both his parents- Gemma with her arms folded, her lipsticked mouth in a thin line, JT with a faint grin and a cigarette hanging from his lips.   
  
“I guess,” Piney is responding, “but you keep your goddamn dick to yourself, long as she… well, just fuckin’ watch it, you hear me? If I hear that you hurt her, or knock her up or somethin’, you’ll have me to deal with, forget about goddamn Rick Knowles. That dickhead’ll be so drunk he won’t even realize he has a grandkid.”   
  
“Jesus Christ, Piney. Really? _I’ll_ worry about telling my son to keep his shit wrapped-“ Piney opens his mouth but Gemma shuts him down with a glare. “- _you_ worry about whether or not that bastard is treatin’ her right at home. You got me?”   
  
“Yeah yeah, I got you.” Piney gives them one last sour look and shuffles inside with his bottle; both Gemma and JT turn their attention to him. _Great._

“I didn’t throw that party last night for my health, Jackson.” _Christ, here we go…_ “I told you what it meant to the club, to the other charters. And you cut out for the night after you get your bike like none of ‘em mean a goddamn thing.”   
  
“Ma… They’re all fine, they were in there giving me a bunch of shit like always. Everyone looks like they had a good goddamn time, too. Most of ‘em are still drunk, for Christ’s sake.”  Gemma shakes her head and is about to speak when JT intervenes.   
  
“Gemma… I told him to take his girl for a ride. All I wanted when I got my first bike is to have a pretty girl on the back of it, I just didn’t expect him to take off for the night.” JT pins Jax with a look that’s as severe as he’s seen from his father in a while. “I’m the _last_ person in the world who should lecture you on what to do with your dick. But Piney’s right about one thing- that girl deserves to be treated right. That’s what I meant when I told you not to fuck this up. One wrong move from you will have Piney and maybe even Rick Knowles on your ass, too, and that ain’t something you or this club needs right now. You understand me?” Jax nods, mutely. “Good. Now let’s get in there and have breakfast.” Gemma seems to accept this, thank God. She threads his arm through hers and they walk that way towards the clubhouse.   
  
“So, you and Tara…” She doesn’t look at him, but a faint smirk appears on her lips.  
  
“Yup.”   
  
“It’s funny- I don’t know whether to say _took ya long enough_ or _that was fast_ , but your dad and I always thought the two of you might wind up together. You just make sure you’re making decisions with your head- and I mean the bigger of the two. Let’s at least get you patched in before you start thinking with your dick.” She pats him on the arm as they make their way into the clubhouse. “I don’t know why they don’t make a patch for _that_ shit, but let me tell you, it’d be on every kutte in this goddamn clubhouse before the day’s out.” JT breaks out in a grin.   
  
“Yep. Right there next to _Men of Mayhem,_ because not a one of these assholes has what you’d call a functional relationship.” Jax smiles at his parents as they head back behind the bar together.   
  
“Well, you two are makin’ it work.” They look at each other for a moment, and Jax wonders if he’s the only one who thought it a rather long time before his old man responds.   
  
“Yup.” 


	16. Ch 16

230 AM comes with a crash in the Knowles household, and Tara wakes with a start. Reluctantly, she rises to peer out her bedroom window only to see the Cutlass parked haphazardly in the drive, the front left tire half on the grass. _Shit._ With no desire to confront her father yet again today, she returns to bed, huddling under the covers as if to pretend that she’d been asleep all along. In the nearly two weeks she’s been back at her father’s house, he’s shown up drunk or not at all most evenings but she was only aware of his comings and goings because of the Cutlass’ presence in the drive. They continued to exist in the same house fairly peacefully, but the words exchanged between them that morning (well, _yesterday_ morning…) had been more than the sum total of all their other interactions so far.

She listens as Rick clomps around what she thinks must be the kitchen, likely fumbling with whatever had been the source of the crash. Another crash splits the air, followed by a string of curses. Then, silence. _Fuck. He’s still in the kitchen. Why isn’t he moving? Why’s it so quiet?_ Worst-case scenarios of her father bleeding out in the kitchen, unconscious in the hallway, OD-ing at the table, fill her mind, and she’s again swinging her legs out of her bed- this time anticipating saving her father from himself.

The kitchen is dark- _well, no shit you’re crashing around in here-_ but she instantly spots him hunched against the refrigerator, blood covering one eye. She’s relieved to see he’s breathing, though she’s unsure his chest should be heaving the way it is- each breath appears to take Herculean effort, each inhale drawing his head up against the fridge door and each exhale gradually dropping it lower until he’s incrementally shifting down the door. A kitchen chair is on its side near his feet, the small cabinet above the fridge standing open. This, then, is where he hides his booze- a virtual treasure trove of various-shaped bottles practically overflow from the opening. A few lay on top of the refrigerator on their sides and one rests against his hip, almost like he had placed it there after taking a pull; Tara doesn’t have to be a private investigator to deduce what had happened.

Swiftly kneeling beside her father, she checks his pulse then immediately asks herself why she’d done so- aside from the fact that he _has_ a pulse, it doesn’t tell her much because she doesn’t _know_ much about what a pulse should be. The gash on his forehead, however, does tell her something- it’s gushing blood- _shit,_ gushing might not even be a strong enough word for the rivulets of red that are currently dripping from his brow bone and onto his cheek, running towards his chin and pooling on the chest of his shirt.

Settling back on her heels, she does her best to assess the situation; _OK_ \- he’s fallen off the chair and is also completely wasted, judging from the smell emanating from his pores- whisky, she’d bet. That cut needs pressure ASAP; a clean kitchen towel hanging from the oven door should do the trick- she grabs it and presses it against his head. The blood flow temporarily stemmed, Tara takes a deep breath and tries to focus. He’s not going to stop bleeding as quickly as he should, given the sheer amount of alcohol that’s in his system; he’s breathing pretty weird and is unconscious, though she’s not sure if it’s because of the booze or the fall, though she’d bet on the fall. _Shit, now what? Call someone. Find someone._ Except, how is she going to do either when the blood is already soaking through the towel? She can’t afford to let him bleed freely, either; scalp and face wounds are notorious for becoming serious quickly- that much she remembers.

She peeks under the towel and sees a brief flash of white bone before the blood wells up again. _Fuck._ Is his breathing becoming more labored? She thinks so; he’s also slumped almost to the point where he’s bent in half against the door of the refrigerator. _That can’t be good for his airway._ Desperately trying to recall something, _anything_ , she learned in her First Aid class the previous year, she thinks she remembers that head injuries severe enough to cause unconsciousness need to be checked immediately- something about a brain bleed. _Great_.

The cordless phone is across the kitchen, but when it comes to a little more blood or no chance at help, Tara knows which is the best choice. She drapes her father’s own heavy hand over the towel in a last-ditch attempt to keep pressure on the wound and makes a dash for the phone, clicking “TALK” as she crosses the kitchen again. Nothing, not even a dial tone, though the phone lights up as if it’s mocking her. _Jesus Christ, Dad. Didn’t you pay the damn phone bill?_  

Tossing the phone onto the counter in frustration, she makes a quick decision- _Piney._ She notices for the first time that the kitchen door is standing wide open, which means she doesn’t need to touch the door handle with her bloodied hands. Pushing a shoulder into the light switch, she turns it on and immediately regrets it; blood is on her hands, the floor around her father, soaking through the towel… her own bloody handprints stand out like beacons against the white linoleum, the refrigerator and the phone, blinking uselessly on the countertop. Pushing the horror scene to the back of her mind, Tara darts out the side door and takes off like a bat out of hell towards Opie’s.

In the moonlight, the dew seems to glow on the grass, lighting a dim path towards her destination; Tara feels like she’s crossing some vast field, wandering aimlessly towards some oasis in the distance- it’s taking eons to cross the two yards, longer to navigate the path leading to the front steps, she thinks. The Winston house is dark, as one would expect at nearly three in the morning, but she practically flings herself at the door, hammering with a small fist. When this doesn’t produce one of the Winston men, she doubles her efforts, ringing the doorbell ceaselessly and pounding with her other hand. _Shit. Nobody’s coming._ Frantically, she stumbles back from the door, barely catches herself before she falls backwards onto the steps and sinks to the porch floor, face in her hands. No sooner had she caught her breath when she hears the door fly open- it’s Opie, wild-eyed and disheveled. He becomes more so as he takes in the blood on Tara’s hands along with the blood she’d accidentally smeared on her face in her moment of despair.   
  
“I’ll kill that motherfucker. _Where is he?”_ He lunges in her direction to head across the lawn towards her house; he’s way off base, but it’s where she needs him to go- and quickly- so she follows, explaining as she scurries behind him.   
  
“It’s not what you think, Opie. I mean, it _is_ my dad, but the blood… it’s his. He didn’t hurt me, he hurt himself.” Opie doesn’t look back at her, doesn’t seem to acknowledge what she’s said. “Ope! He fell, hit his head somehow-there’s blood everywhere. We need to get Piney.” This seems to snap him out of it, but he continues to stalk towards her house determinedly.   
  
“The old man ain’t home. He’s up at the cabin, has been since he left the clubhouse this afternoon.” They stop at the Knowles kitchen door, Opie’s eyes widening as he sees the scene laid out before him; after a moment, Tara shakes off her hesitation and crosses the kitchen to press the now-soaked kitchen towel to Rick’s head. He’s pale, sweaty, almost cool to the touch, and she tries to determine if his breathing has changed since the last time she had noted it. Desperately, she lifts her eyes to Opie, still standing in the doorway and a bit pale himself.   
  
“He needs a hospital, Ope. Head injuries… they’re nothing to mess with, and he’s been out too long.” Opie scoffs.   
  
“You sure it ain’t the booze?” She tries to feel indignant at his question, but having had that thought herself, can’t bring herself to get angry at him.   
  
“I’m not, actually. But he’s lost a ton of blood, and I can see bone. Whatever he hit his head on, he hit it hard and since he’s unconscious, I can’t tell how he’s responding. Plus, I’m not sure, but I think he might be going into shock.” Opie’s eyes lock on hers, seeming to come to some conclusion.   
  
“A’ight. Let’s go. Where are the keys to the Cutlass?”   
  
“Uh… probably in the ignition, he drove it home.” She sees a flash of anger cross Opie’s face, but he says nothing, just heads outside to check; he returns with keys in hand and shoves them in his pocket before nodding at Rick’s slumped form.   
  
“Grab his feet.” Shit. She hadn’t thought about how they’d get him into the car.   
  
“Ope… you’re not supposed to move someone that could have a head or neck injury. At least, I’m pretty sure…” Halting, he gives her a brief smile before shaking his head.   
  
“Tara, he needs the hospital, and we need to get him there. I’m assuming there’s a reason you haven’t already called 911?” _He thinks Dad’s in trouble_ , she realizes, slowly. Not wanting to spend the time to explain, Tara reluctantly grabs her father’s feet while Opie- all blessed six-plus feet of him- hosts the rest of the limp man into his arms. Together, they steer him out the door, down the path, and deposit him as carefully as possible into the back of the Cutlass; Tara slides in with him and places his head in her lap, resuming pressure on his forehead. Opie gets into the driver’s seat, a brief grin crossing his face as he catches her eye in the rearview, “Never thought I’d actually get to _drive_ this thing.” Tara can’t help but smile back.

They’re silent the rest of the way as Opie navigates the dark streets of Charming; much like the trip across the neighborhood to his house, Tara feels as if the hospital must be a hundred miles away. She exhales the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when the St. Thomas sign comes into view. Opie parks in the emergency circle and darts inside; he’s followed back to the car by several staff bearing a stretcher and they watch as Rick is placed onto it and wheeled inside.

Suddenly, after nearly an hour of constant motion, constant thinking, Tara’s at a loss- she and Opie stand there, useless for the moment. Eventually, he places a hand at the small of her back to guide her inside; the waiting room is deserted, populated only by a group of gray plastic chairs, a silk plant, a chipped coffee table with several expired magazines, and a TV that looks to be playing a rerun of COPS. Wordlessly, Opie propels her into one of the chairs before angling his head at the automatic doors and holding the Cutlass keys up in explanation. _Oh. Right._ He disappears out the doors and Tara tries to focus on the TV, where a shirtless man is undergoing a field sobriety test. Oh, the irony. She’s distracted for a moment when the woman behind the counter calls her up to fill out paperwork, which she stares at blankly for a moment before handing it right back.   
  
“I’m a minor.” The woman glares at her for a moment before taking the clipboard back, but says nothing. Tara just can’t bring herself to think too deeply into anything, including filling out a medical history form for her father, a man she hasn’t been around for years and whom she barely knows better than a stranger off the street. She’s heading back to her perch in the waiting room when she notices Opie on the pay phone down the hallway- likely letting Piney know where he’s at- it dawns on her that it’s probably nearly 4 AM and they both have school the following morning. Ope has never been that into school that she knows of, but she feels a wave of guilt wash over her at the thought of him missing it because of her. He finishes his call and turns to see her watching him; he doesn’t say anything, just takes her by an elbow and guides her back to the waiting area, settling his large frame into the hard plastic chair beside her.

Not for the first time, she’s thankful for Opie’s knack for being able to tell when she needs words and when she just needs someone to be there, to understand. If anyone understands having an alcoholic for a father, it’s Opie, though Piney is admittedly a much more present father figure and seems to keep his benders to the weekends. They sit in silence for nearly twenty minutes, his constant presence at her side seeming to dull the edge of the worry that’s constantly threatening to take over, an occasional touch of his hand stilling her when her nervous habit of jiggling her foot becomes nearly manic.

They’re watching a traffic stop turn into a foot chase on the blurry television in the corner when a voice cuts through the silence- it’s like its owner had started barking orders even before the automatic doors had opened, because it’s almost tinny at first and then suddenly gets louder, more commanding. As she hears the heel clicks nearing the reception desk behind her, Tara immediately knows who’s arrived.   
  
“We need an update on Rick Knowles, and his daughter needs to see him, ASAP.” Gemma’s at the reception desk before she finishes her sentence, nails tapping on the counter. Behind her are JT and Jackson, looking a little blearier but no less concerned. Jackson doesn’t stop at the desk with his mother but continues walking straight into the waiting area, his eyes fixed on Tara’s. He pulls her from the chair by a hand and immediately folds her into his arms. Briefly, she glimpses Opie over Jackson’s shoulder and mouths a thank you at him for calling the Tellers; he responds with a grim nod before hoisting himself out of the chair to join JT. As much as she appreciated Opie’s calming presence, there’s just something to be said about how secure she feels in Jackson’s strong arms, the comfort she takes from resting her cheek on his chest and feeling his lips against her hair. She’s vaguely aware of Gemma arguing with the woman at the desk, of JT’s occasional interjections, but mostly she just wishes the earth could open up and swallow them, transport her somewhere she and Jackson could escape everything that’s happening.   
  
Eventually, he lowers himself into a seat, pulling her head into his lap as she stretches out over a few of the plastic chairs. It isn’t long before Gemma finishes with the woman at the desk and stalks into the waiting area to take a seat across from them.   
  
“Stupid gash…. What the hell happened? Ope didn’t say much, but then he never does.” Tara swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, but doesn’t lift her head from Jackson’s leg.   
  
“I’m not sure. He came home late, threw some stuff around in the kitchen, I think. Then there was a big crash and I found him in there, bleeding. I think he was up on a chair, trying to get something from above the fridge, and he fell off and hit his head.” There’s not much else she can say; Gemma’s looking at her with a note of compassion on her face.   
  
“He drunk?” Silently, Tara nods against Jackson’s leg; he begins stroking her hair as Gemma’s face contorts with anger.  
  
“And what about you, Tara?”  
  
“No, Gemma, _I’m_ not drunk-“ her sarcastic response is cut off as Gemma waves her hand.  
  
“You know what I mean. He hurt you?” Jackson’s hand stills and she knows he’s likely clenching his jaw just like he had during he and Rick’s confrontation the previous morning. Reluctantly she sits up; _God_ , she’s so tired. Jackson takes her hand, his thumb drawing slow circles on hers.  
  
“No. By the time I found him, he was knocked out. Besides, he’s never laid a hand on me, drunk or not- he’s just hard to deal with when he’s been drinking.” Gemma’s looking at her knowingly.   
  
“Well he could’ve hurt you, hurt _someone_. Opie said he drove home drunk. He do that often?” Jesus, it feels like the questions are never-ending, but Tara knows its inevitable at this point.   
  
“I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve only been back here a week. I’m usually asleep when he gets home… _if_ he comes home… but if I had to guess, he’s probably several drinks past sober when he gets home and if he’s there, the Cutlass is in the drive.” Gemma shakes her head, her lips a thin line.   
  
“That drunk bastard’s gonna kill someone- either himself or some innocent- driving loaded that way. At the very least he’s gonna lose his job. Hell, he came pretty close to that last year-” _What?_ Tara’s expression must have caught Gemma’s eye, because she pauses, explains. “Your old man got hemmed up for driving a rig, loaded out of his mind. Spent a little time in jail, had to forfeit his CDL. His company must really like him, because it wasn’t long after that he got it back and was working again. I’m guessing someone got paid off. But I don’t doubt another incident like that’ll be the end of their generosity.” Tara’s silent; how could he be stupid enough to drive his truck drunk, his _Cutlass_ drunk, knowing Charming PD probably had eyes on him? Since she found him in the kitchen, she’s alternated between panic and worry, but both are being quickly replaced by anger. For the first time, Jackson speaks, clasping her hand tighter.   
  
“And what happens to Tara if he loses his job, gets thrown in jail?” Another bolt of panic rips through Tara at the thought. Gemma purses her lips.   
  
“The state decides that, Jackson.” She looks away, and neither Tara or Jackson respond. Jesus, she’s just gotten back here, just found the closest thing she has to happiness with Jackson in her life, and her father’s fucking inability to cope could be what rips it all away. Gemma seems to steady herself. “But tonight, we’re just going to hope he’s OK. You didn’t involve the police, 911, and that was smart, Tara.” She nods, not wanting to reveal to Gemma that the only reason she hadn’t called them had been her father’s inability to pay the damn phone bill. “We’ll find out how he is, go home and sleep for a bit, and-“  
  
“And then Piney and I are going to have a word with Rick about his choices, and how they affect the people around him.” JT’s voice comes from over his shoulder, and he braces both hands on her shoulders and squeezes them. “You OK, darlin’?” Tara nods, suddenly aware of the scent of his leather and cologne, plus a hint of smoke- evidently, he and Opie had been outside having a cigarette. “I’m just thankful you weren’t in the car with him,” He releases her shoulders, gives one a pat, “and that’s something I mean to make right the moment he’s conscious.” As if the world bent to the whims of the King and Queen of Charming, a man pushes his way through the swinging door leading to the rest of the hospital and raises his voice.   
  
“Family of Rick Knowles?” Everyone stands, prompting the doctor to raise an eyebrow. Tara glances around the room and takes in the group she considers family- perhaps just as much as she does her own father; Jax and Opie in sweatpants and Reaper tees, JT in riding boots, jeans, a flannel and the ever-present kutte, and Gemma looking like she’d just returned from the biker ball in her usual black, denim, lace and leather. Looking down at her own cloth sleep shorts and tank, she’s sure they make an interesting group. The doctor apparently decides to forgo figuring out which of the motley group are actually related to Rick, and speaks to the room at large.

“He took a nasty bump to the head, which we stitched up. The blood loss was significant for this type of injury, probably due to his BAC.” Tara wrinkles her brow and the doctor notices. “Blood alcohol content,” he clarifies; “He was- _is_ \- extremely intoxicated. Am I right in assuming that this is how he received this injury?” Tara nods. “We’re going to admit him, at least overnight, run a CT scan to see if there’s any brain hemorrhaging. He most definitely has a concussion, based on the injury, but since we haven’t had any success waking him up, we can’t really determine the severity in the usual manner. I’m guessing that’s due to the amount of alcohol in his system, but until we determine whether he’s unconscious due to that or his injury, he’ll need to stay put.” _Okay_. She glances briefly at Gemma, who’s nodding along with the doctor. If Gemma accepts this, Tara guesses she’s on board, too. The doctor flips the documents on his clipboard and frowns. “I see we don’t have a history or insurance information here for him, though it says he was admitted several years ago. The other info has either changed or fell off the system after so many years. Can any of you provide that?” Tara looks down at her feet, embarrassed for the first time that she knows so little about her own father; not missing a beat, Gemma answers for her.   
  
“Tara here is his daughter, but they just reconnected; she’s got no idea about anything the past several years, and no idea about insurance. He’s got a job; I’d assume you can ask him about that when he wakes up?” The doctor nods, briefly.   
  
“Fine, fine. There a number we can reach you at if there’s a change?” Nodding, Gemma extends a hand for the clipboard. “Alright. Well, he’ll be back for the CT within the hour, but there’s not much else to share until afterwards. If I were you, I’d go home, catch some sleep, and we’ll hopefully have him awake and talking in a few hours.” Nodding farewell, the doctor turns on a heel and disappears through the swinging door as Tara sinks back down into the plastic chair. Quickly, Jackson settles into the chair beside her and puts an arm around her shoulders; Opie catches her eye and gives her a thin smile.   
  
“He’ll be alright, Tara. You did exactly what he needed, stopped the bleeding, got him here without the cops involved…” he trails off when she doesn’t acknowledge his words and glances at JT, as if for help.   
  
“Ope’s right,” JT supplies. “There ain’t no way anyone would have found him in time if you hadn’t been there.” Tara shudders at the thought of her father, alone and drunk, bleeding out on the kitchen floor.   
  
“Jesus _Christ_ , Dad, she didn’t need to hear that…” Jackson hisses, pulling her tighter into his side.   
  
“No, it’s OK. It’s true, isn’t it? If this had happened a month ago, he’d still be laying there, wouldn’t he?” A look at the two elder Tellers tells her she’s right. “I don’t think he has any real friends, at least not in Charming. He does his drinking in Lodi, usually, but I haven’t met anyone he runs with and nobody ever stops by the house. He’d have been there at least until his boss wondered why he didn’t show.” Releasing a shaky sigh, Tara allows herself to think- for the first time since she’s returned- about just how lonely her father’s existence is. “Right after my aunt died, I kept wondering _why now_? Why did I have to leave my friends, my school, move back up here with a father I know next to nothing about? But maybe I was meant to be here, now. He’s been alone so long, but at least I was here when he really needed me.” Gemma’s eyes narrow.   
  
“You might be right, sweetheart, but don’t you go taking on his shit. He’s your father; _he’s_ supposed to be taking care of _you_ , not the other way around. Him getting hammered, driving around like some maniac, that shit needs to stop and John’ll talk to him about that…and about you.” JT’s nodding, grimly; that said, Gemma seems to soften and takes Tara’s hand. “For tonight, you ain’t going back to that house alone. You’ll stay with us.” At this, both Jackson and Tara’s heads snap up; Gemma shakes her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “We’ll settle the question of where you’ll sleep when it’s time. For now, Ope can take the Cutlass back to your house, lock up.” She glances up at Opie, who’s already nodding. “Your old man still up at the cabin?” At Opie’s nod, she continues. “ _Jesus Christ_ , that old bastard always pulls this shit just when he could be useful to someone besides Jose Cuervo. Alright. You OK there alone, sweetheart?” Opie nods yet again.   
  
“Yup. I’ll lock up at Tara’s and then I’m crashing.”

“Good. Well, let’s go. I’ll call in tomorrow morning, excuse you all from school for the day. But your asses will damn sure be there Tuesday.” She’s already marching towards the doors as she finishes her sentence; JT shakes his head and smiles at all three teenagers.   
  
“You heard the boss, let’s go.”

________________________________________________  


At the Teller house, Tara stands awkwardly as Gemma marches into Jackson’s room and gathers up the plethora of dirty socks, t-shirts, and other laundry that litter the floor. Stuffing the pile into a seemingly unused hamper in the corner, she sweeps around the perimeter of the room, plucking cups, empty chip bags, and a half-full ashtray from the various flat surfaces.   
  
“ _Christ_ , Jackson” is all she says on her way out the door with the pile of trash. Tara glances at Jackson, raises an eyebrow as if to say _is she really going to let me sleep in here_? He gives her a small smile in return.   
  
“The only other room is Tommy’s,” he says, by way of explanation, “and that’s practically a shrine at this point.” He looks at his feet for a moment, then raises his eyes to hers. “Sorry.” Tara snorts.  
  
“Have you _seen_ my house? Trust me, I get it.” They share a moment of comfortable silence before Gemma breezes back into the room bearing an extra pillow.   
  
“Alright. I feel a little silly setting ground rules, especially for _you_ \- get that smirk off your face, Jackson. Anyway, what happens everywhere else is on the two of you, but while you’re in _my_ house, you’ll be in here with the door open. I’d put you out on the couch, Jackson, let Tara have your bed, but I know your sneaky little ass too well. So we’re compromising; our door’ll be open, too, so _watch it_. Any questions?” Tara’s face is burning, but Gemma barely lets her words register before she’s heading back out the door, calling back over her shoulder “Get some sleep, breakfast’s at ten.” They stand there, a little awkwardly, until Jackson grins at her.   
  
“You do realize that my mom just told us to sleep together?” Tara can’t help but smile back at him. She hadn’t anticipated spending a night with him again so soon and she can’t deny it’s the silver lining to this whole shitty evening. Jackson’s reaching for her hand when JT comes into view in the doorway.   
  
“Bathroom’s down the hall, Tara; feel free to use whatever. I’ll be at TM early, but I’ll see you at the hospital sometime tomorrow.” He starts to back away from the door, then pauses. “Oh, and son? You behave yourself.” Jackson rolls his eyes.   
  
“Jesus, Dad. Mom already read us the rules and regulations. We got it.”   
  
“ _We_ , huh? It ain’t _her_ I’m worried about and you know it.” JT grins at Jackson, who rolls his eyes again as his father heads down the hallway towards his own room, kutte in hand.

The house is dark as Jackson shows her to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and does a cursory wash of his face before removing his t-shirt and drying himself. _God._ Tara takes in his muscular chest, the defined abs, the way his sweats hang from chiseled hips; she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to the fact that someone that looks like _him_ is hers to touch, to kiss whenever she wants. As if to prove the fact to herself, she waits until he tosses the shirt at the hamper and then raises onto her tiptoes to press a light kiss to his mouth. Grinning, Jackson pulls her closer and kisses her senseless right there in the bathroom before releasing her with a pat to her ass.   
  
“Get ready for bed, babe.” He raises an eyebrow at her, suggestively, and leans against the counter to watch as she rinses her face. The realization hits her that she has no toothbrush, no deodorant and she says as much to Jackson, who rifles through a vanity drawer before producing a toothbrush, still in the package. “You can leave that here, you know. You’ll be back.”

“You assume a lot, Teller,” she returns, before rewarding him with a smile, marred only by the foam the toothbrush is producing. She finishes and rinses the toothbrush before pointing it at him- “Now get out. You’re not watching this part.” He sinks deeper onto the countertop and she has to push his snickering ass into the hallway before closing the door behind him.

He’s already in bed, waiting for her, when she pads back down the hallway and into his room. Christ, she can’t help but feel a little nervous- their night together previously hadn’t been planned- but he reaches a hand towards her and the nerves are replaced by the memory of the sheer comfort of sleeping, wrapped in his arms. Flicking off the overhead light, she crosses the room and takes his hand, letting him pull her into his side. Briefly, she thinks that Gemma’s extra pillow was going to be going to waste- she can’t think of a more perfect spot for her head than on Jackson’s chest.

“I called you, you know. Like I said I would.” Jackson’s chest vibrates and Tara burrows into its warmth.   
  
“I don’t think my dad paid the phone bill. I tried to call Piney or Opie earlier- before the hospital- and didn’t even get a dial tone.” He’s silent for a moment.   
  
“That why you didn’t call 911?” She nods against his chest. “I figured. But it worked out, anyway. He doesn’t need to get hemmed up for drunk driving, at least not by the cops. Don’t get me wrong- that shit needs to stop- but my dad and Piney are going to take care of it. If he gets busted who knows where they’ll send you while he’s doing time? That asshole Hale already threw the book at him once.” _Wait, what?_   
  
“Hale?” Jackson curses under his breath.   
  
“Forget I said that- Hale isn’t the point. He’s not important. I just don’t want you to leave, Tara.” Her questions about Hale die in her throat as he slides down in the bed and covers her mouth with his. It’s all lips, tongue, and a bit of teeth as the kiss grows deeper, wetter, by the moment. His hand steals up to cup her breast and, reluctantly, she pulls away.   
  
“We can’t, Jackson,” she whispers. He huffs out a laugh in the darkness and whispers back.  
  
“We so can.” He prevents her protest with another kiss and it’s a few minutes this time before she is able to drag her lips away from his.   
  
“We _can’t_. I want to- I want _you_ \- but we can’t. You think this will ever happen again if Gemma or JT catch us fooling around?” His hand is still on her breast, but he skims it down her side to give her ass a firm squeeze before turning her onto her side so he can curl behind her.   
  
“You’re right. I always knew you were smarter than me, babe.”  
  
“Well no shit, Sherlock.” At this, he tickles her, pinches her side until she’s laughing uncontrollably.   
  
“You sayin’ I’m dumb, baby? I didn’t think you were into stupid assholes,” he teases. He continues torturing her until she yelps with laughter; shortly after, a male voice echoes down the hall.  
  
“I _said_ no funny business! Now go ta sleep!” Both of them dissolve into silent laughter and Jackson pulls her back against him again. They sober as he wraps his arms around her and kisses down her neck, leaving a lingering kiss at the slope of her shoulder.   
  
“Thank you for being there, Jackson,” she whispers, lifting his hand to her lips and clasping it against her chest.   
  
“Of course. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there for you when you found him, but I’m glad it was Ope.” She smiles in the darkness.  
  
“He’s a good friend.” She can feel Jackson nod behind her.

“The best. Hell of a lot better than me, that’s for sure; one of _my_ best friends has _this_ effect on me, and I’m pretty sure that makes me the world’s shittiest friend.” He flexes his hips and Tara can feel him, solid against her.   
  
“Jesus Christ, Jackson…” she’s giggling again. _We’re so getting in trouble_. “Go to sleep. You can take me to the hospital tomorrow. Who knows, I might just be _really_ grateful…”   
  
“I’m the one who’s grateful babe…” he mumbles against her neck. “’Night.”   
  
“’Night.” And as they drift off to sleep together for the second night in a row, Tara can’t help but think of her father, across town and alone in the hospital; before that, alone in that house for seven years. If he and her mother had had anything like _this_ in the time they had together, she’s not sure she completely blames him for losing his shit when he lost her.

 


	17. Ch 17

It seems like mere minutes have passed since he drifted off to sleep behind Tara when Jax slowly becomes aware of soft voices in the hallway. He doesn’t open his eyes, but as he becomes more aware of his surroundings, he can tell the sunlight filtering in through his window – and subsequently, his eyelids- is bright enough to be mid-morning. The voices become a little louder and then stop outside his doorway.   
  
“Rick would have a shitfit if he could see them right now.” His father’s voice holds enough mirth for him to realize that JT doesn’t really give a shit if Rick Knowles is pissed off or not. Jax doesn’t either, not _really_.

“Yeah, well, maybe he should have thought twice about what would become of his daughter if he fucking _kills_ himself in the middle of the goddamn night. Or gets arrested driving his drunk ass home.” Gemma’s voice holds no trace of amusement, something Jax is all too used to. “She doesn’t _belong_ there, John. He ain’t taking care of her right, I can just sense it.”  
  
“What do you wanna do about it, Gem? Take her away from him? Have her stay here?” Gemma doesn’t answer and Jax nearly dares cracking an eyelid open to try and see her face. “You’d have her or Jackson out on the couch indefinitely? Or, what, let them shack up together in here?”  It’s all Jax can do to keep still, what with his heart lurching at his father’s words. “Or what about Thomas’ room…” The sarcasm in JT’s voice is evident even as he drifts off.  
  
“Alright, alright. I see your point.” Gemma snaps, dashing any hopes Jax had harbored of getting to spend his nights curled around Tara. “I’m not saying she should move in here; they’re only sixteen and I got no desire to start playing grandma. And we both know what happens when people shack up too young, don’t w-“  
  
“Jesus, Gemma, don’t start painting them with our brush. They’ll make their own mistakes, but at much as we have in common, Jackson ain’t me; Tara sure as hell ain’t you. She’s already spent a good chunk of time outside Charming but _unlike_ you, she didn’t come back with a baby and a biker.” JT’s voice is gentle, teasing; Jax’s heard this part of his mother’s history before: she’d fled town to escape her overbearing mother and had returned on the back of a Panhead- head held high, hugely pregnant with her first son, her arms wrapped around John Teller’s leather.   
  
“She might have come back in her old man’s Cutlass, but she’s just as drawn to the bikers as I was- _that_ much is clear.” Finally, Gemma’s voice has softened.  
  
“Just _one_ biker.” _Damn right_ , Jax fights the urge to chime in with his father. “Or at least it always _starts_ that way.” JT’s voice seems distant now, and as Gemma responds, all traces of softness are gone.  
  
“You’re right, it does; doesn’t it, _darlin_? Just like one old lady is enough in the beginning? But then-“ JT cuts her off, a hint of steel in his voice that hadn’t been there before.   
  
“Enough. They’re not us, even though that little shithead reminds me so much of myself, and even though _she’s_ probably more strong willed than even you. And as much as I’d love to stand here and relive shit we’ve worked through already, I gotta get to TM before one of the prospects gets it into his head to go on a repo run alone. Again.” Christ, Jax wishes he hadn’t heard all that- it’s too early in the day for his mind to be reeling, trying to dissect his parents’ talk about one biker, one old lady, working shit through…

“Fine,” Gemma counters, her voice strained. “But you remember your promises for _once_ , John. You’re gonna talk to Rick about driving while blitzed, and you’re gonna talk to him about doing right by Tara. Take Piney with you, let him know there’s someone nearby, watchin’ his ass, but you make sure he knows the message comes from you. From _SAMCRO_. That’s the only chance we got at scarin’ him straight.”  
  
“I didn’t forget what I said last night; I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“Good. Because if you don’t, I will. And you might not like my solution.”  
  
“Christ, Gemma, I don’t even want to know. I got enough on my plate with the Mayans, Clay’s hare-brained ideas, and the two _lovebirds_ here. I don’t need to add hiding Rick Knowles’ body to the pile,” he teases, then falls silent for a moment. When he speaks again his voice is muffled a bit, as if his face is pressed into Gemma’s hair. “I do love you, Gem. We got through our shit this past year, and we’re getting through losing Thomas now. All that shit about reassuring the other charters we’re still whole will be much easier if we _are_ whole. We owe it to them to stay that way, but even more so, we owe it to _Jackson_.” Jesus, he wishes he knew what his dad’s talking about. They’d all spent the past year or so struggling with Tommy’s death, or so he’d thought, but apparently there was more to it than that at the time- at least where his parents are concerned.   
  
“I know, baby. I know. Our personal shit can’t leak onto the club… and it won’t. But Jackson’s SAMCRO just as much as anyone wearing a kutte and everything we do affects him double. You remember that next time you want bring up past shit and then preach at me about staying whole.” His father sighs, his voice still muffled even as he speaks.  
  
“I’m sorry. I just- _Christ_. I’m _sorry_ , alright? I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Murmuring turns to the unmistakable sounds of his parents kissing and if his mind wasn’t already preoccupied and racing at what he’s just heard, Jax would probably be off somewhere beating his head against a wall instead of laying there listening to it. Abruptly, he hears his mother’s heels click down the hallway again, followed by his father’s bootsteps, and strains to continue listening as they move away from him.  
  
“I’ve loved you since I was nineteen, John. I don’t know that I can stop-”  
  
“Nobody’s _asking_ you to stop-”  
  
“Let me finish. I don’t know that _I_ can stop loving you, but I can’t say the same for _Jackson_. You pushed us all away- me, Jackson, even the club; you may have spent all your time buried in club business, but most of it was in goddamn _Belfast_. I know we have to prove we’re _whole_ , baby, but first you gotta make sure you’re _back_ , that you’re still the John Teller that founded this club and the John Teller that started this family. You think you can do that, we got a chance.”  
  
“Oh, I’m _back_ , babe. Don’t you worry about that.” There’s silence for a few ticks, and then JT’s voice returns as Jax can hear him open the kitchen door. “I gotta go. I’ll meet you at the hospital later; Piney and I will have that chat with Rick today and that’s a _promise_ I’ll keep.” The door clicks shut and he can hear Gemma release a sigh; it’s a split second later when Tara reaches back to grasp his hand and haul it up to her lips to press a brief kiss onto his fingers before drawing it against her heart and squeezing tightly. He kisses her shoulder lightly before whispering against it.   
  
“How much of that did you hear?” She turns over, then, her eyes full of concern as they search his own.   
  
“All of it,” she whispers, her nose nearly brushing his. ”At least, everything after your mom said she didn’t want to play grandma.” _Jesus, mom…_ “But they told us that last night. What was up with all the rest of it, though? All that stuff about working shit through from the past?” Jax shakes his head.   
  
“I don’t know. I told you how we all got through Tommy separately- _alone_ \- but I guess they had their own shit going on. Anyway, it sounds like maybe they’re past it or something…” His voice doesn’t sound very convincing, and from the looks of her, Tara’s not buying it, either.   
  
“We can talk about it later, when nobody’s around to listen in?” He nods, and she rubs her nose on his own. God, he loves waking up with her; just over a week ago if someone had told him he’d be waking up with a girl by his side, he’d have called them crazy- he’d have straight up laughed his ass off if they’d told him he’d _prefer_ it. But then a week ago, he hadn’t anticipated having Tara back in his life and he certainly hadn’t had a clue about the full-body, heart-and-soul reaction he’d be having to her.

Even now, after a night under Gemma’s supervision, after hearing shit he’d never thought he’d hear from the ugly underbelly of his parents’ relationship, he can feel the response to her that’s become all too familiar over the past week. His dick’s tenting his boxers, sure, but he’s pretty sure most sixteen-year-old boys are walking hard-ons; he’s also come to expect the breathlessness, the tingling, the literal _warmth_ that spreads through him at her touch. Over the past couple days, he’s made the conscious decision to just let it happen, and he’s enjoyed basking in the sensations she gives him instead of fucking panicking. What he’s still getting used to, though, is this whole king-of-the-world feeling he gets every time he comes to the realization that she’s truly his.

 _God, that sounds possessive as fuck._ Okay, so he’d never say that out loud, _especially_ not in front of her. He knows she’s her own person- if anyone has a stubborn, independent streak, it’s Tara- but he can’t help thinking it all the same. _My girl. My girlfriend. My… Tara. Mine._ Thing is, he’s pretty sure she already owns some of the most important parts of him, anyway; he’d never let anyone claim his mouth before, ever, and there was no way he’d have ever let another girl hold his hand or perch on the back of his bike. Someday (he’s hoping it’s sooner rather than later), she’ll be ready to lay claim to his most favorite part, though she basically owns that already, too. And his heart, well…

Above all, after what’s been the worst year of his life, he just likes starting his day with the one person that’s managed to make him happy. It’s a bonus that she’s looking back at him right now and smiling like she’s thinking the same thing.

“It’s nice, though- waking up here. With you, I mean.” He smiles back.  
  
“Fuck yeah, it is. I mean, me t- I like waking up with you, too.” She giggles at his fumbling and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Just like any other time she’s kissed him, he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to be as close to her as possible, to take things as far as she’ll go. As she releases his lips, he immediately reclaims her, sucking on her lower lip until she parts hers with a whimper. Grinning against her mouth, he slides a hand under her ribcage to draw her closer still, then angles his head to cover her lips with his own. Things are just getting good when Gemma’s voice breaks the silence.  
  
“Jesus Christ, you two got an early start this morning. Knock it off, we got shit to do. Jackson, let her go so she can take a shower.” She holds up a plastic bag, which dangles from a manicured finger. “Piney stopped by with these about an hour ago before he headed to the hospital. Who knows what the hell he picked out for you to wear but if it’s too awful, I probably have something you can borrow. Now get movin’, both of ya.” Gemma tosses the bag on the foot of the bed and disappears back into the hallway as Tara pulls the comforter up over her head and groans. Burrowing under the covers himself, Jax finds her on her back, hands to her face, and shifts so he’s lying on top of her. He ignores his hard-on for the moment and Tara must be doing the same because she’s suddenly pushing at his chest.   
  
“Jackson, _stop_. She already caught us making out. In your bed. And you’re just in your boxers…” He smiles at her in the darkness beneath the covers.  
  
“So?”  
  
“So it’s _embarrassing_. She’s your _mother_ -“ he shuts her up with a kiss she’s reluctant to return at first, but soon their breaths are mingling and her hands are threading in his hair. _Jesus_ , he wants her so bad, but even he isn’t willing to risk Gemma walking in again. He gives her a final, short kiss and whispers in her ear.   
  
“We need to get up. But just so you know, it’s the _last_ thing I want to do right now.”   
  
He hears her “Me, too” as he rolls off her, taking the covers with him.   
“Good. Now go get in the shower before she comes back in here.”

* * *

An hour later, they’re in Gemma’s car, headed to St. Thomas. Gemma had rolled her eyes when they’d both gotten in the back seat and Jax figures she’d probably caught a glimpse of the inside of her skull when she’d noticed them holding hands in the rearview.

“Christ, the two of you are gonna give me a toothache by the end of the day, you get much more sickeningly sweet.” Jax narrows his eyes at her and gives her a pointed glare. It’s clear the closer they get to the hospital, the more nervous Tara’s feeling- at least by the way she’s clutching his hand and jiggling the foot dangling from her crossed leg. Gemma meets his glare and softens, a bit. “He’s _fine_ , sweetheart, the nurse reassured me of that this morning when I called.” Jax thinks he feels her relax a bit and squeezes her hand.   
  
The waiting area in the main part of the hospital is nearly as deserted as the one in the ER had been last night- save Piney, who’s clutching a cigarette and flicking a lighter repeatedly. From the way the nurse behind the desk is eyeing him, he’s going to get pounced on the moment he dares to touch flame to tip; from the look of Piney, he’s already been warned- his mouth is set as he glares in the general direction of the desk, eyes seeming to narrow a fraction more with each strike of the flint. He catches sight of Jax and Tara, their hands still linked, and shifts his glare to Jax. _Yeah, yeah, old man. I fucking got it yesterday._

“’Bout time ya brought her up here. Her old man’s been awake about a half hour, and he ain’t takin’ well to the fact that this place ain’t servin’ him whiskey.” Piney shifts his gaze to Tara, immediately dropping the glare, his eyes softening. “How ya holdin’ up, little girl?”   
  
“I’m fine, Mr. Winston, thanks.” He waves his hand.   
  
“Piney, remember? Anyway, nurse says you can go on in and see him whenever. He’s bein’ a prick to everyone who sets foot in there, though, so just a warning. Maybe he’ll change his tune when he sees you.” Piney doesn’t look too convinced, however, and Jax isn’t either. From what little he knows of Rick Knowles, the man’s only friendly to someone who’s supplying him with booze, and that only lasts as long as the booze does. He takes Tara’s other hand, ignoring the look on Piney’s face.   
  
“You want me to come in with you? You don’t have to do this alone.” She gives him a longing look before responding.   
  
“I know, and thank you. I _want_ you to, more than anything. But he didn’t react all that well to you last time. I should probably go in by myself.” _Stubborn_ , he thinks. But she’s right that her dad had sort of lost his shit the last time he’d seen him, Jax just doesn’t particularly care. For Tara, though, he’ll avoid rocking the boat any more than necessary.   
  
“Alright babe, but I’m right out here. We _all_ are,” he amends, as JT, Chibs and Bobby enter the waiting room. She simply nods at him and waits as Piney hoists himself out of the plastic chair and gestures for her to follow. He’s back momentarily and JT, Bobby, Chibs, Gemma, and Jax join him in sitting in the uncomfortable seats.

“So what’s the word, brother?” JT asks, running a hand over his beard. Piney shrugs.   
  
“Wouldn’t tell me much, some hippo shit, I guess?”  
  
“HIPPA,” amends JT, “they can only tell people who are authorized to be in the know. It’s law. That’s why I had to relay all the shit about Thomas to you to take to Church, remember?” If Piney remembers, he doesn’t show it, his face as inscrutable as ever.   
  
“Sure as hell made things awkward when I had to call Rick’s boss and tell him he was laid up for a bit. Ended up sayin’ he’d slipped and fell and would probably need a couple a’ days off. Guy seemed OK with it, but who the hell knows how long _that’ll_ keep, ‘specially if he stays in here too long.” JT shakes his head.   
  
“Wasn’t there some issue before?” asks Chibs, “Seems like I rememba' one of you leanin’ on the DMV abou' his CDL or some shite.” The club had helped Rick before? _What the hell?_ JT’s still shaking his head.   
  
“Not me. _Clay_.” Both Jax and Gemma’s eyes snap up to look at JT. “He and Rick used to be friendly, remember? Back when the kids were babies and we were first settling in Charming? Far as I know, they hadn’t talked for several years- after we first got into, uh, our _primary business_.” JT glances around the waiting room to make sure there are no listening ears. “I guess Clay had approached Rick about membership but it never came to the table. Didn’t matter, Rick was turned off by certain… _illegalities_ , and wasn’t interested; he kept his distance and then his wife passed and he took a dive, so to speak.” Piney’s nodding in agreement.   
  
“Yup. And when he had his last DUI and got his CDL yanked, the guy had the balls have Clay ask the club for help. I didn’t give a shit at the time, really- Tara was safe down in San Diego with her aunt and as far as I was concerned, Rick could take a flying leap off a short pier. But I think Clay saw an opportunity for leverage.”

“Oh, I goddamn well _know_ he saw it- Clay’s nothing if not an _opportunist_.” JT pauses, his eyes sliding over the group; Jax isn’t sure but he thinks they linger on Gemma, who’s sitting as she usually does during club business conversations- legs crossed, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. “Anyway, he had some contact over at the DMV and got Rick’s CDL reinstated. I don’t know that he’s called in a favor yet or not, but that shit would have to come to the table, so he better still be sitting on it.” Bobby’s looking nervous.   
  
“Your boy and your Old Lady sittin’ in on club business… _I_ don’t give a shit, but some of the others might.” Jax catches himself trying to shrink back in his chair. _Christ_ , if only he could be fucking invisible today-he’d learned more listening in today than he had hanging out at the clubhouse the past year. JT scoffs.   
  
“This shit ain’t hardly club business. At least not anymore; favors for a guy that ain’t even outlaw aren’t illegal. Besides, Tara’s Jackson’s girl now; it’s more family shit than anything.” Bobby nods as Jax shoots his dad a grateful look.   
  
“Aye, how’s that all goin’, Jackie Boy?” Chibs puts in, a broad grin spreading across his scarred face.   
  
“S’alright…” is all Jax can manage. He remembers their heckling from the day before all too well, and Piney shifts in his seat.   
  
“Gotta be more than alright, lad- I neva' pegged ya for a man ta sett-le down with jus’ one.” Shooting a nervous glance at Piney, who’s looking straight up murderous again, Jax sighs. Better smooth things over with at least _one_ old man and since it’s not looking like Tara’s dad’s about to embrace his daughter’s new boyfriend, Piney’ll have to do.  
  
“I know, man. But Tara… she’s special. I don’t even know what else to tell you. I’ve known her since I was a little kid and she’s always just… _gotten_ me. It’s that simple, I guess.” Chibs is nodding; he either knows not to say stupid shit in front of Piney after yesterday, or he understands where Jax is coming from.   
  
“Makes sense, lad. I guess I ‘as just thinkin’ tha’ tha lass can do the same fer ya if she’s a friend, aye?” Jax can only shrug.  
  
“Yup. But I care about her. We- I-… I got feelings for her and shit.” _Jesus Christ_ , he feels like a pussy- his face is red and his stomach seems to be somewhere north of his chest. But if it means Piney’s not going to strangle him in his sleep the moment he finds out Tara spent the night at the Teller house, it’s worth it. He glances around- JT’s grinning at him, Gemma’s inspecting her nails with a faint smile on her lips, Chibs is wearing a knowing smirk, and Bobby looks nonplussed. Perhaps most importantly, Piney’s eyeing him calmly, with what Jax thinks might be an air of approval. Shit, at least he’s no longer getting the death glare.  
  
Suddenly, he hears it; a soft noise there’s no way he’d have heard five minutes ago during their conversation, and a noise he’d recognize anywhere after Grace Knowles’ waning weeks- Tara’s sobs. From the way Piney, Gemma and JT leap to their feet, they’ve heard it, too. Shooting them a pleading look in an effort to give Tara as much privacy as she can get in a hospital full of Sons, Jax is rounding the corner he’d watched his girl disappear around several minutes before.   
  
Tara’s slumped against the wall outside what he assumes is Rick’s room- arms wrapped around her legs, head on her knees- and she’s fucking _shaking_. Jax is momentarily halted by surprise at the amount of pain that knifes through him to see her like that- she’d been upset last night, sure, but _this_ … He slides down the wall next to her and draws her to his chest, which is immediately dampened with tears. “What the fuck did he say to you?” he growls. He’s not sure how close Rick Knowles was to death last night, but he’ll sure as hell finish the job if that asshole-

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” Tara chokes out. After a few hitched breaths, she continues. “He as- asked me why I bothered to sh- show up here at all. Sa- said I haven’t cared about him for the last seven ye- years… so why start now? He said I was as worthless as a daughter as she was as a mother, and we’re both doing him the same amount of good, now.” Jax has to make an effort not to clench his hands into fists- slowly, he flexes his fingers and strokes Tara’s hair, partially to distract himself.   
  
“He’s an asshole, Tara, and a drunk. He’s only thinking about himself right now. You did nothing wrong; hell, you saved his worthless goddamn life last night.” Tara sits up, shaking her head and swiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of a hand.   
  
“He’s been _alone_ , Jackson. All these years… no wonder he hates everyone and every _thing_. It isn’t right what he said, but I get it. After last night, _I get it_. Being with you… it just makes me think about how awful I’d feel if you were suddenly gone- how awful _he_ probably felt after _she_ was gone. Then I take off on him, too… I know he couldn’t take care of me, I _know_ that, but he’s hurting, still. I just… I can’t hate him; you know?” Jax takes a breath, tries to steady himself before responding- she doesn’t need to hear the rage he can feel creeping in. What kind of father guilt trips his own daughter about some shit that’s his own goddamn fault? Better yet, what kind of father chooses to drown himself in whiskey and pills to the point that his nine-year-old daughter has to flee to another fucking county to avoid his shit? Jesus, now _he’s_ shaking. _Christ, Teller, calm the fuck down._ It takes him several slow breaths before he trusts himself to respond.  
  
“Nobody said you needed to _hate_ him, Tara. He’s your dad. He just needs to start _acting_ like one and you need to stop beating yourself up about shit that isn’t your fault.” She rests her head on his shoulder and as he sits, stroking her arm, he notices Gemma leaned up against the wall at the corner. She gives him a brief nod of approval and edges toward them, extending her hand to Tara.   
  
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s grab some of the world’s most horrible coffee and get you cleaned up a little.” Uncertainly, Tara takes Gemma’s hand and allows herself to be led down the hallway. Before they round the corner, Jax can see his mother slip his arm around Tara. Satisfied she’s in good hands, he eases up from the floor only to see JT and Piney appear- JT looking somber, Piney incensed.   
  
“Christ, dad. He said-“  
  
“Gemma gave us the rundown; we’ll take care of it.” Grimly, they pause outside Rick’s door. JT’s hand is about to turn the knob when he shifts his glance to Jax. “Son, come on in. She’s your girl, you should be here, too.” Jax hesitates, and JT’s eyes harden. “I mean it, Jackson. It’s time Rick Knowles knows that hurting Tara means dealing with SAMCRO _and_ with you. You don’t be disrespectful, but you let him know you’re there for her, you understand?” Swallowing, Jax nods at his father. His face softening, JT grips his shoulder. “Good. We’ll do the talking, to start.” Releasing him, JT opens the door and strides inside, Piney and Jax behind him.   
  
The room is dark, vinyl curtains blotting out the noon sun, the TV black as Rick reclines in the heavy metal bed. His eyes are closed and he looks significantly older than when Jax had seen him yesterday. A gauze bandage covers the place where Jax assumes he’d hit his head, and a monitor beeps; he can’t help but shudder- the last time he’d been in a room like this, Tommy had been the one in the bed. Evidently Piney’s been thinking along the same lines and shoots him a sympathetic look- the old man had been here nearly as much as the Teller family; he may be a grumpy bastard, but if Jax can say one thing for him, it’s that he’s loyal as hell.   
  
“What the hell do you want now?” Rick rasps without opening his eyes. JT takes a methodical step forward. Over the years, Jax has seen his father in many scenarios as President of SAMCRO: leader of a brotherhood, owner of a business, head of a ragtag outlaw family, emcee of many a party. He’s at his most formidable, however, when staring down an adversary- SanJua Sheriffs, Charming PD and a host of Mayans, One Niners and other bikers had borne the brunt of his quiet, seething wrath. John Teller may not be an overly tall man like Piney, or excessively muscled like Clay (though he’s still a couple inches taller than Jax and could brawl better than anyone he’s ever seen), but what he lacks in physical imposition, he makes up for in sheer, God-given authority.

Right now, Jax knows JT’s barely containing his rage; what’s usually hiding in the depths is simmering right there below the surface- only some outsider messing with his Brothers or his family can bring out this side of the elder Teller. Jax has a fleeting thought that Rick would do well to open his eyes; the second thing that occurs to him is that Rick likely thought the person entering the room was Tara, and the idea of him responding in that way to her has Jax’s temper ratcheting up right along with his father’s.   
  
“You’re not asking the questions, here, Knowles. You’re here to listen.” JT’s voice is deadly calm, but Rick’s eyes fly open as if someone had shouted at him and Jax knows instantly that whoever the man had been expecting, it hadn’t been the SAMCRO President, VP, and his daughter’s boyfriend.   
  
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t know it was you…” Rick sounds a little on edge- nervous even- as he fingers the sheets with shaking hands. _Good._

“Well see, that’s part of the problem, now, isn’t it?” JT continues. “I just watched your daughter run out of here because her _father_ -“ the word drops off his tongue with utter loathing “-decided to lay guilt on her for having to be raised by relatives the past seven years.” Rick fixes his gaze on the bedsheets, jaw clenched. “Now, why is that, Knowles? Why did little Tara have to move almost five hundred miles away?” He leans closer, face set, flexing his fingers slowly. When Rick doesn’t respond, he lowers his voice further and asks again. “Why did Tara leave town?” After a long silence, Knowles raises his eyes to rest on JT’s.

“Because Grace died and I lost my shit. That’s the long and short of it.” Rick’s voice is flat, vacant. JT doesn’t flinch.   
  
“Right. You remember that the next time you get to wondering why the hell you’re so _lonely_. So far, the moment another chance with her drops out of the sky and into your goddamn lap, instead of working your way back you drink yourself half to death. More than that, when your little girl- the one _you’re_ supposed to be taking care of- finds you half dead in your kitchen, she not only saves your life but makes sure you don’t get yourself arrested. And how did you repay her, Knowles?” Silence.

Jax wonders if his father had expected an answer to this at all; JT moves so he’s looming over the bedridden man, brings a hand up to clutch the front of Rick’s gown. When he continues, his voice is somehow soft, yet filled with steel and unmistakably deadly; Rick doesn’t shrink back, but his nostrils flare and Jax can tell he’s afraid, angry, or both. “This. Stops. Now. She ain’t gonna be taking care of _you._ _You’re_ the adult, so act like one. Piney here tells me of any sign, the slightest goddamn inkling that you’re neglecting or mistreating her, you’ll have SAMCRO at your door faster than you can blink. And if I _ever_ hear that you lay a goddamn hand on her, I’ll kill you myself. Is that clear?” Rick swallows, but is silent; Piney draws himself up to his full height and clears his throat.   
  
“I believe the man asked you a question.” Eyes flitting back and forth between the two Sons, Rick nods quickly, and JT releases him, relaxing a bit.  
  
“Good.” Knowles clears his throat and nods at Jax.   
  
“You got kids running your club now, Teller?” His voice is even, but there’s the slightest note of mocking that has Jax’s teeth clenching. JT straightens.  
  
“Nah. My boy here was at the hospital in the middle of the damn night with your daughter, to show support. You see, that’s what we do in SAMCRO, Rick. We support our family… and Tara _is_ family.” Rick snorts.   
  
“Right… I suppose you refer to your women- what do you all call them over at the clubhouse, again? Oh, that’s right- _croweaters_. I suppose the croweaters are family, too. You know, after they’re used up and tossed away by your _brothers_.” Jax is pretty sure he’s about to grind his teeth to powder, and a brief glance from JT is enough to spur him into action.   
  
“Tara’s _not a goddamn croweater_. _You_ know that and _I_ know that, so stop calling her one. She’s my girlfriend…my _best_ friend…and I love her.” _Jesus Christ._ Ignoring the fact that Piney and JT’s eyebrows are approaching their respective hairlines, he continues in a rush. “I love her, I do, and I think I always have. I don’t want anything to happen to her- hell, all I want is for her to be happy, and I think I can make her so. I just need you to give us a chance.” Jax realizes he’s almost pleading with Tara’s father, when he should be backing up the threats his father and Piney had just issued. Rick eyes him, warily.   
  
“Right, well, I don’t have much of a choice now, do I? Considering the fact that your old man just threatened to kill me if I don’t fall in line.” Jax shakes his head, glaring at Rick and trying to contain his seething rage.  
  
“Just remember that I care about her even more than these two-“ he gestures to the two Sons in the room “-and we’ll be watching. _I’ll_ be watching. You see, I plan on spending a lot of time over at your house… but I hope we can be friends.” Jax smiles, though he knows the smile doesn’t reach his eyes; it’s what Ope calls his “dangerous grin”- the one he directs at rivals who’ve dared to cross him. He doesn’t think he has it in him to direct any sort of pleasantries towards the pathetic excuse for a father before him anyway. Rick doesn’t respond, just gives a curt shake of the head and settles back into the pillows.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest. You see it’s a little _draining_ fusing a cracked skull back together, even if you’re not receiving death threats…” JT backs away and pats the metal footboard.   
  
“Sure thing. You remember what I said, though. You can also count on Clay or someone else from the club cashing in on that little favor you owe us for the last goddamn time this happened. And soon.”

They’re headed toward the door when JT turns, abruptly, as if he’s forgotten something. “Right. I almost forgot. You go over to Lodi and get hammered, that’s on you. But you come home, you catch a lift- a bus, a taxi, a goddamn _horse_ for all I care. But you’re done driving loaded. You crash and hurt someone, you won’t have to worry about the police catching up with you because one of us will personally make sure you feel every bit of pain your victim did. And the next time you think about getting behind that wheel drunk, you think about where the hell Tara’s gonna end up if you lose your job. We understand each other?” Again, there’s silence as Rick nods. “Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your stay- someone will bring Tara back to see you tomorrow. I trust it will end well this time?” No response; JT shakes his head with disgust. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

They’re all sitting at the large, round booth at the diner in front of mostly empty plates and listening to Piney gripe about how Ope had probably not even made it out of bed yet, when Tara clears her throat. Everyone pauses expectantly as she asks the question that’s likely been on her mind since they’d gotten the update from Rick’s doctor about an hour earlier.   
  
“So what did you all say to him?” Shit. Jax has no idea how to answer that. JT smiles reassuringly, but glances at Piney and Jax before answering.   
  
“Only what was important. We reminded him who the father in the situation was, and just how much he stands to lose if he continues to drive drunk.” Tara looks down at her ice cream dish, swirls her spoon in the pool of melted ice cream inside before raising her eyes to JT’s.   
  
“Thanks”, she whispers, and the utter look of relief in her eyes sends yet another barb into Jax’s heart at the sight of this girl- the girl he loves- so thankful to finally have someone take up for her. It’s in this moment that he knows, somehow, that he can never tell Tara about his old man’s threats; he knows she’d likely shrug off any report coming from her father as an exaggeration, but right then and there he vows to himself that Tara will never have confirmation that her father had to be threatened with death in order to act like a decent parent.

“He’ll be out in a couple of days once the swelling on his brain goes down, so we’ll see how it goes.” Gemma adds. “You’ll stay with us, of course- there’s always someone there to keep an eye on things.” She cuts her eyes at Piney, who rolls his in return. Jax squeezes Tara’s hand under the table and tries to mask his exhilaration at the prospect of another couple nights holding her. Tomorrow, they’d go back to school but the thought of dealing with Hale, the Pussy Patrol, _real life_ is somehow less daunting if he gets to do it with her by his side.

 


	18. Ch 18

Tara’s been a student at Charming High for just over a week but she doesn’t think a month- shit, a _year_ \- would have been enough to make her feel like she belonged if she hadn’t reconnected with Jackson and Opie. Sure, the school had been buzzing about the return of the prodigal daughter of the town drunk, but that hardly constituted rolling out the welcome mat; not that she’d ever had a wide circle of friends, though she’d been much bolder as a kid and the de facto female sidekick to two of the more popular boys in school. She actually hates that she’s been a bit of a wallflower since showing up in Charming; the feeling of being uncomfortable in her surroundings is something she hasn’t felt since arriving in San Diego years ago.

The girls of CHS, who she’d admittedly taken little interest in back in elementary, seemed to rest firmly in two camps: the brazen members (or wanna-be members) of what Jackson and Opie referred to as the Pussy Patrol, and the more subdued types. Regardless of choice of extracurriculars, grades, or social status, you either threw yourself at the more attractive boys or you didn’t. As a result, volleyball players, cheerleaders, rich girls, girls from less wealthy families no matter the clique… all could be seen working their wiles on some boy, scheming to get the attention of another, or flat-out sucking face.

Those girls had immediately treated her with either an air of superiority- she was, in fact, Rick Knowles’ kid and didn’t bother much with makeup or dressing provocatively- or with what seemed to be suspicion. She wanted, those first few days, to reassure several of the girls evil eyeing her that she wasn’t out to try to steal their boyfriends- or whatever you were supposed call the person you fucked occasionally at parties.

The quieter girls on the edge of CHS’ social circles, she’d have been more drawn to. However, she’d heard even those girls whispering about her father, or how she was probably just the next member of Jackson Teller’s fan club. Because, of course, what other reason would there _possibly_ be for the smart girl and the biker Prince to spend time together?

Tara had wanted to shake the first girl she’d heard make mention of she, Opie and Jackson’s standing open-air lunch date; she’d been in one of the first-floor bathroom stalls and had overheard a girl she recognized from her AP Chemistry class wonder aloud whether Tara would be giving Opie or Jax a blow job first. The two girls had agreed that Opie seemed more likely because Jax usually went for the more voluptuous looking blondes and plain-Jane brunettes weren’t really his thing; Tara exiting the stall and calmly washing her hands had effectively put a damper on the conversation and the girls had scurried into the hallway, beet red.

The crux of the matter, Tara thinks as she towel-dries her hair in the Teller bathroom, is that neither of the two factions are willing to accept her; one side sees her as competition while the other seems to write her off as a croweater-in-training. Before the past weekend- before _Jackson_ \- she’d have written them off and assumed someone else would come along. Now, though, she’s realizing her choices haven’t left her with many friends in Charming- most of the girls are out of the question, Jackson and Opie hate David Hale, and most of the rest of the boys they’d run with seem to have moved on from bikes to sports. The SAMCRO boys are now a sort of island in the middle of CHS; they’ve built (or inherited) a reputation for being friendly but sticking close to each other, for not being afraid to subdue with words or fists anyone or anything that challenges their family- whether blood or leather.

Tara has to admit that she admires Opie and Jackson’s loyalty to each other, to their fathers’ club; it’s not that she doesn’t want to be on SAMCRO Island, but it _is_ a bit overwhelming to realize that her entire social life is about to be tied up into two people. Thank God they’re the same two people she’s known since she was old enough to even _make_ a friend, the only two people she’s ever let in. Today, though, that dynamic is going to change once again when she arrives at school on the back of Jackson’s bike instead of the three of them in Opie’s beater. She supposes that makes her a SAMCRO girl in the eyes of some, though from what she can tell since none of the other patched members have children their age, she’s the only one.

Studying herself in the slightly fogged bathroom mirror, she wonders what a SAMCRO girl- no, _Jackson Teller’s girl_ \- should look like. Immediately, her mind lands on Gemma and she tries to picture herself with dramatic eyeliner, smoky makeup, leather and black lace. What would the reaction be at school if she showed up with teased hair and expertly applied makeup? She can see Melissa “Barbie-Doll” Rourke’s face, now: the shock as Tara Knowles- the plain Jane she’d easily dismissed as Opie Winston’s plaything- rides in on the back of the Prince of Charming’s bike, her flawless face not giving the desperate, fawning members of the Pussy Patrol the time of day.

Decision suddenly made, Tara rifles through the duffel bag they’d picked up from her father’s house yesterday and extracts a small, zippered makeup bag. The only items inside that had seen any use beyond the Spring Formal they’d been purchased for last year are a tube of cherry chapstick and a thin cylinder of mascara. Tara’s eyelashes are long and thick, but she’d liked the way mascara seemed to separate them and frame her eyes. The rest, she’d had little interest in.

She bypasses the powder- it had been too dark for her pale skin even back when she frequented the beach. Seizing the eyeliner pencil, she tries to remember what her friend Jenny had done back in May; _Jesus Christ,_ this is exactly why this doesn’t happen often. The whole thing takes her a good fifteen minutes, and Tara tries not to feel resentful about the time she could have put to use with more important shit. Eyeliner, gray shadow, mascara, a bit of candy-pink lip gloss… she surveys her handiwork- not very _biker bitch_ , but definitely more sophisticated. Her hair usually dries in loose waves after it’s been combed, but she finds herself tousling it at the roots, trying to determine if it’s a little sexier this way.

Tara puts on a pair of jean shorts and her favorite Pearl Jam tee, but somehow, neither look right with her newly improved hair and makeup. Desperately, she digs through her bag but knows all too well there’s a dearth of miniskirts and halter tops, both in her duffel bag and in her closet back home. Pursing her lips, she rolls her jean shorts once, twice, until they’re dangerously short and showcasing a hint of cheek in the back. The t-shirt she knots at the back until it exposes an expanse of skin at her midsection and showcases what she has to agree with Gemma is a pretty decent rack.

As she poses in front of the mirror, a smile curls at her lips- sure, Melissa, Stacey, and all the other croweaters-in-training are going to double-take when she and Jackson roll into the CHS parking lot. Better yet, Jackson is going to… well, she’s not sure. All she knows is that with a little lighter hair, she’d be a dead ringer for the girl on the poster on the back of his door.

 _What the fuck, Knowles?_  She drops her arms to her sides and takes a step back from the vanity; does she want that? Does _he_ want that? Unbidden, the image of the redhead croweater from Jackson’s birthday party appears in her mind- Tara had been half-sick at the time, thinking of how eager the girl was to change her goddamn _hair color_ for a better shot at bedding the boy she wanted. Now, that same boy and some stupid bitches at school have her, Tara, hovering in the bathroom before school, painting on makeup with a heavy hand, tying up her clothing to show more skin- her _ass cheeks_ , for God’s sake. And why? To look the part of a biker’s girlfriend, to emulate some nameless bimbo from a poster in her boyfriend’s bedroom; to be what _he_ wants her to be- something she hadn’t done for Liam or any of the girls at her old school even though they’d all casually suggested she dress more like a SoCal girl should. And here she is, just over a week into her return to Charming, just _days_ into her relationship with Jackson, and she’s changing herself to suit him. _Fuck that._   
  
Shaking, Tara wets a washcloth and begins to scrub at her face. She supposes she’s not been fair to Jackson; after all, _he’s_ never told her he wishes she’d wear more makeup. Actually, the week’s been a whirlwind in which he’s not seemed to be able to keep his eyes off her, despite her choice in dress and her relatively simple mascara-and-chapstick routine. He’d told her, too, that the Pussy Patrol, croweaters, all the others were in the past; that he’d broken his own rules about touching and kissing for her alone. _She’s_ his girlfriend, his _first_ girlfriend, not Melissa, not the redhead, not some Gemma lookalike (she shudders at the thought of Jackson dating a younger version of his mother). He’s not tried to change her yet- and Charming High is going to have to accept her as Tara Knowles, first and foremost. Then, yes, as Jackson Teller’s girlfriend and Opie Winston’s best friend. She may wind up being labeled a SAMCRO girl, but she’s the only one so far and nobody’s going to determine what _that_ means but her.

A knock at the door startles her out of personal affirmation mode. “Tara? You OK?” Jackson’s voice is hoarse; he’d been asleep when she’d rolled out of his bed to shower and get ready for school- she checks her watch- over an hour ago. _Great._   
  
“Just a minute!” Hurriedly removing the rest of her makeup, she hears him mumble something about having to pee; reapplying a thin layer of mascara and her familiar chapstick, she leaves her hair a bit tousled- the one part of her ill-fated makeover she’d sort of liked-  unties her shirt and unrolls her shorts. On second thought, she re- rolls each side just once- her legs _do_ look pretty long with them that way, but not indecent. Exhaling deeply, she opens the door to find Jackson leaning against the doorframe shirtless, his hair hilariously disheveled, eyelids at half mast. She decides Morning Jackson is one of the most adorable things she’s ever seen. His eyes light up at the sight of her and she can’t help but feel reassured that the expectations placed on her for her first school day as his girlfriend had been put in place 100% by her own, overactive mind. He cements this further by dropping a kiss on her lips, then licking his own.   
  
“I’ve been meaning to ask- is that cherry or strawberry?” Blushing, she doesn’t answer but fishes the tube out of her pocket to show him. “Thought so. I’m not a lipstick guy-“ he pecks her again “but I don’t mind wearing a bit of chapstick-“ and again “provided it’s applied like _this_.” He ceases punctuating his words with soft kisses and proceeds to remove practically every trace of the chapstick she’s just put on, the scent of cherry mingling along with their breaths. When the kiss ends he’s breathing harder than she is, she thinks, and her fingers itch to thread into his hair, to tame down the blonde tangles that had appeared overnight.

Jackson smiles at her, backing away a bit. “One drawback of you staying here- it takes me a hell of a lot longer to get ready in the morning.” She can’t help but smile back.   
  
“Me too. _Trust_ me.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek, gathers her duffel bag, and heads for his room. Despite the early hour, she can hear Gemma rustling about in the kitchen. It strikes her how normal that is- a mother in the kitchen fixing breakfast for her child before school; it also strikes her just how abnormal the scenario is for her. Her father barely manages to keep food in the house, and her aunt had typically left her to her own devices in the morning. But there’s something comforting about Gemma’s presence in the house, even if it had put a relative damper on she and Jacksons more physical explorations.

All doors had been open once again last night, which didn’t prevent a level of kissing that had left them both panting, but she’d been nervous enough about JT or Gemma making a sudden appearance at the door that she’d stilled Jackson’s hands as they began to roam. He’d readily accepted this, though his acceptance was accompanied with enough whispered teasing to turn her beet red in the darkness. But if she’s being honest with herself, she’s looking forward to getting away from parents for a while, even if it is school and the hospital.  

As if to prove her point, Jackson enters the room clad only in a towel, his hair shedding droplets of water onto his broad shoulders. As Tara watches one trail down his chest, over his abs, and soak into the white towel, she’s reminded of that morning at the cabin when what’s under that towel had been on full display. Mouth suddenly dry, she tears her eyes away to see him rubbing his hair with a towel, the Jax Teller smirk firmly in place. _God…_ she’s struck again with just how amazing it is that someone who looks like him is all hers. Before she can get herself into trouble, she scoops up her backpack from the desk chair, throws it over her shoulder and pauses to cup his face with her hands.   
  
“I need to be alone with you,” she whispers; at this point, the hands holding his face on hers aren’t necessary because his eyes are widened in shock at her boldness, his blue fixed on her green. He swallows thickly, blinks a few times before responding.   
  
“Okay. Today, after school or after the hospital- take your pick.” She smiles up at him, dropping her hands to her sides.   
  
“Promise? It’s a date?” He chuckles, seizing one of her hands and lifts it to his lips.   
  
“Our _first_ date.”

* * *

 

Tara hasn’t been on the back of Jackson’s bike for a little under two days but as they ride to school the relief comes rushing in even before the exhilaration; somehow, the Dyna already feels like a familiar friend she doesn’t want to go too long without. Missing, too, had been the comfort of her cheek against Jackson’s back, her arms tight around his middle, the absolute bliss of being that close to someone and not having to talk. She appreciates more than words can say what the Tellers, the Winstons, and the rest of SAMCRO have done for her, but it feels good to get away, to let the road soak up the stress.

As they near the parking lot of CHS, Tara realizes she’s willing Jackson to hit the throttle and roar on by the turnoff, take her away someplace where they won’t have to worry about the Pussy Patrol, grades, hell- her father. If he’d suggested skipping this morning in his bedroom, she’d have told him no; it just isn’t in Tara Knowles to blow off school, at least not two days in a row. She thinks she’s probably a coward for hoping he’ll take the decision out of her hands, but it would be so much easier to just ride off with Jackson and spend the day getting lost in each other. He turns. She sighs.

As they cruise towards their usual parking spot at the back of the lot, Tara can see the premiere members of the Pussy Patrol gathered around someone’s new car- she neither cares who owns it or what model it is; neither do they, apparently, because it’s instantly old news as soon as Jackson parks his bike next to Opie’s. Ope’s still sitting on his and both boys cut their engines as a sizable group of girls and a few boys make their way across the lot towards them. _Oh God, here we go…_

They dismount the bikes and the first to speak is Kyle Hobart, one of the boys they used to bike around Charming with.   
  
“Teller. Winston.” He tips his head back by way of greeting, and Jackson and Opie return the gesture. “Niiiice.” He grins, eyeing the bikes appreciatively. “A ’93?” Jackson shakes his head proudly.   
  
“ ’92, both of ‘em.” Kyle nods, angling his head to catch a better view of Opie’s bike. From somewhere in the midst of the slowly growing group, another voice pipes up.

“My dad wanted a Softail like that. I mean, until he had to quit riding.” The source is a dark haired kid wearing a Teller-Morrow shirt and a nervous look on his face; almost immediately, a short blond standing alongside Kyle snickers.   
  
“That’s funny as fuck, Lowell, considering the only reason your dad had to quit riding is because he’s a goddamn _junkie_ and had to sell his bike.” Scattered laughter forms throughout the crowd as Lowell fidgets with the hem of his shirt, and Tara violently unclips her helmet and steps forward, her face burning. If anyone understands fathers with addiction issues, it’s her. Jax is already responding from somewhere behind her, the sneer she can’t see on his face evident in his voice.  
  
“Shut the _fuck_ up, Andrews-“ Tara almost cuts him off in her haste to give this asshole a piece of her mind.

“I wouldn’t talk too much shit if I were you; your legs aren’t even long enough to reach the pegs.” The group laughs at this, too, and the short boy turns bright red.   
  
“Teller, tell your croweater to keep her mouth shut. That is, unless she’s about to put a cock into it.” _Yeah, this isn’t good._ She can feel Jax come boiling off the side of his bike behind her, Opie behind him.   
  
“Jax!” Ope grabs his arm. “Not now, brother. Security.” He nods towards the edge of the lot, where the school resource officers assigned to CHS are headed towards the group.   
  
“I don’t give a fuck, Ope. This dipshit thinks he’s going to be a prick to Lowell and then call my girlfriend a goddamn croweater?” _That_ silences the crowd- all except for Opie, who yanks Jackson another step back.   
  
“ _Later_ , bro.” He turns his attention to Andrews, his face a threatening mixture of contempt and anger. “You ever say anything like that about Tara again, I won’t be stopping him and I don’t give a shit if you’re in the goddamn Charming police station. And when _he’s_ done with you, _I’ll_ be finishing it. You get me?” Andrews looks noticeably paler, but nods.   
  
“Yeah. Sorry man, I didn’t realize she was your girlfriend and all…” Jackson wheels around, his anger rising again.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should think before you open your fucking mouth. And don’t apologize to me; apologize to Tara.” His eyes are flashing, hands fisted at his sides. Nervously, Opie takes a step towards him again, but Tara takes his hand, resting her left hand on the same arm.   
  
“Jackson… he’s not worth it,” she breathes. And as she watches, continuing to stroke his arm, she can see Jackson’s breath begin to deepen, his hands relax. She’d witnessed the effect she had on him back in elementary school when he’d pour his heart out and then stand in her driveway, shaking with tension only to be calmed by her touch. Now that she’s older, the phenomenon has a much more visceral effect on her. She’d felt powerful the other day in bed with him at the cabin, inciting his body to quake and tense at her very touch; _this_ , however, isn’t about power. The ability to calm him, she realizes, isn’t a part of some control mechanism, but the result of some yet-to-be-explored bone-deep connection.

“ _Sorry_ …” the kid is saying, as he’s dragged away by Hobart and his friends. Tara doesn’t have much time to consider his exit as she’s suddenly aware of several girls eyeing her with expressions ranging from distaste to utter scorn. She reacts almost without thinking, which is probably a good thing because she’s not sure she’d have done it had she had time to think twice. Dropping her hand from Jackson’s arm, she cups his cheek- still flushed with anger- and turns his face towards hers. He gets the hint immediately and draws her in by the belt loops, fitting her body against his. The last thing she sees before she closes her eyes and sucks on his lower lip is Melissa Rourke’s face, thin-lipped and pale. The last thing she _hears_ before Jackson begins murmuring in her ear and caressing her back is a dumbfounded Pussy Patrol member-   
  
“ _I thought his lips were off-limits_ …”   
  
“Not for _her_ ,” comes Opie’s answer.

The last bell rings and Tara navigates through the crowded hallways with a sense of relief. They’d made it through their first day at CHS as a couple; aside from the morning’s confrontation in the parking lot- which hadn’t involved her until she’d stood up for Lowell- things had gone relatively smoothly. She’d noticed plenty of girls glaring at her and plenty of whispers, but she doesn’t much care; after her moment of revelation in the Teller bathroom this morning, she’s determined more than ever to remain Tara Knowles: smart girl… smart _ass_. To some extent, she knows she’d risked losing a bit of herself in San Diego and had managed to avoid it; she’s just as determined not to do that here in Charming.

As Tara pauses in front of her locker, she decides she’s glad they’d shown the crowd they’re together the way they had- he’d referred to her as his girlfriend first, she’d kissed him, and he her. It was as mutual as everything else in their relationship has been so far, free of any trace of Jackson asserting his will on his latest conquest or Tara chasing after him like the rest of the airheads. They’re different, _better_ , together, and they’d let everyone know it.

She’s fumbling with the combination lock when she becomes aware of someone standing beside her; a glance tells her it’s David Hale, who’s wearing an expression she can’t decipher. Tara hasn’t had a chance to talk to him all day- he’d busied himself with work in their classes together, and he’d barely responded to her wave when they’d passed each other in the cafeteria. David had been nothing short of friendly since her arrival in Charming and she suspects he’s been avoiding her; despite herself, she gives him a small smile.  
  
“Hey, David.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at the floor.   
  
“Hey.” He stands there, silently, as she studies him briefly. Sandy hair- though darker than Jackson’s and definitely more clean-cut- a masculine build most girls she knew could appreciate, and piercing eyes she couldn’t really define the color of. He’s attractive, she decides, in that same subtle way Liam had been and arguably her type. If things hadn’t happened the way they had with Jackson- had he not completely blown her away-she definitely could have seen herself becoming interested in David.

He raises his eyes to hers and smiles, and she immediately feels guilty as her mind begins taking stock of everything that she now knows is lacking- his eyes don’t burn with the intensity Jackson’s do when they’re looking into hers, his smile doesn’t produce the same near-blow-to-the-chest. Most importantly, though, David doesn’t have Jackson’s ability to make everything else seem to fade away, make her feel safe; safe from _what_ she doesn’t know, but the fact remains that he’s always been able to protect her- even in elementary school, and even during the years she’d spent away from him. She doesn’t need a boy to handle her shit, but she can’t deny that the fact their connection is reciprocal- she calms him, centers him and he makes her feel safe and secure- seems to fill some hole she’s pretty sure has been vacant since her mom died.   
  
“Tara?” _Jesus_ , how long has she been standing here? How long has David been talking? She blinks, focuses on his face, which seems to be filled with concern. Seeing that she’s snapped out of her reverie, he continues, earnestly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”   
  
“I’m sorry, what?” _Dammit._ She’d been spaced out longer than she thought.   
  
“Tara, I told you about how Jax has changed since we were kids. The Sons, his brother’s death… its like he’s become his father.” She narrows her eyes at this.   
  
“What’s that supposed to mean? JT’s been nothing but wonderful to me. _Jackson’s_ been nothing but wonderful.” David’s already shaking his head.

“John Teller’s a criminal, and Jax will be, too. But I’m not even talking about that, really. I told you already how Jax treats women. He’s a womanizer, Tara. He doesn’t care about _anyone_ so long as he gets to blow his load… and they say that’s exactly how his dad is.”   
  
“David-“   
  
“Let me finish. I know half the girls in this school think Jax Teller is Charming’s answer to Kurt Cobain, but that’s what he does, Tara. He makes you _feel_ like you’re special, then he’s off to the next girl when he’s got what he wanted.” Nope. She can’t let this go.

“I _am_ special, David, at least to Jackson. And, yes, he makes me feel that way but I _know_ him. I’ve known him since we were little kids, and what’s happening between us started way back then. I won’t deny his history with girls, but that’s over now. Or the things the club’s involved in, but they’re good people at heart. They _are._ Just this morning, Jackson stood up for that Lowell kid _and_ for me; even more than that… my dad’s in the hospital, David. Did you know that?” His blank expression tells her he’d had no idea, despite the school rumor mill.

“I was in my house, alone with my unconscious father, scared to death he’d bleed to death before I could get help. But _Opie_ helped me, no questions asked. And then, when they could tell I was dreading going back to a house covered in my father’s blood, the Tellers opened their home to me. They’re my _family_ , David, since my dad doesn’t know how to be, anymore. I know you’re trying to help, I _know_ you think you’re being a good friend, but I need you to stop treating me like I’m some little girl who doesn’t know what she’s getting into _. I got this_ , David, OK?”   
  
His eyes are sad, she thinks, as she watches him wordlessly resign himself to the fact that nothing he says is going to make her come to some sudden realization that Jackson Teller is bad news. Truth be told, she’d be angry if it were anyone else because she wouldn’t be as sure their intentions were pure. David, though, had never shown anything but concern and friendship. Despite Jackson and Opie’s opinions about the Hale family, she doesn’t get the impression that he’s like the rest of them; at least, he never had been. _Shit._ He’s reaching out to lay a hand on her arm.  
  
“Promise me one thing, Tara?”   
  
“Okay...” Anything to make this less awkward.  
  
“I don’t _want_ him to hurt you, I swear it. I’m not someone who’ll say _I told you so_ , either. But I know he will. He’s going to hurt you and when he does, just know that you can depend on me, OK?” _Christ._ _He’s not a fucking prophet_ , she thinks to herself, finally growing angry.   
  
“Fine, David,” she snaps, jerking her arm back, redness blooming on David’s flushed face. “But I want you to promise _me_ something, too. I can take care of myself, no matter where Jackson and I end up, and I want you to remember that. Can you do that for me?” His eyes harden.   
  
“Whatever you want, Tara, but I’ll be waiting…” As his voice trails off, Tara feels arms encircle her waist and a warm cheek on her own. Jackson’s voice sounds strangely loud this way- she can hear him directly in her ear and feel the vibrations through her cheekbone.   
  
“You’ll be waiting a long damn time, Hale.” Jesus, the last thing she needs is David and Jackson getting into some sort of turf war.   
  
“I doubt that, Teller. Not with _your_ history, and not with _your_ self-control. Or lack thereof. I’ll see you around, Tara.” David backs away, which is probably a wise move given the fact that Tara can feel Jackson’s jaw clenching against her cheek. Turning in his arms, she reaches up to press a kiss on his lips- he returns it distractedly at first, but when she slowly moves him back against her locker he seems to wilt a bit and kisses her fully. They pay no heed to the students streaming around them until someone clears his throat; Tara pulls away just enough to catch a glimpse of Opie, leaning up against a locker and grinning at them.   
  
“Damn, it’s like you two haven’t seen each other in, like, a couple hours or something.”   
  
“Shut up, Ope”, Jackson and Tara return in unison, causing Opie to roll his eyes even further, the grin still plastered on his face.   
  
“Yeah, of course you’re speaking in sync. I have to say, I’m glad you two are together- it’s way less annoying than watching you freak the fuck out and overanalyze each other’s every last move. But could ya at least try to keep the mushy shit to a minimum? I’d like to keep my lunch down; I’m a growing boy.” He pats his stomach and Tara dissolves into laughter; Jax looks mildly amused and perhaps a bit annoyed.

“Anyway, I know you gotta get to the hospital but afterwards, I thought maybe we could meet up at the diner or somethin’? Grab a burger, maybe smoke up on the way home?” She can feel Jackson deflate, a bit, and remembers their conversation this morning about taking off somewhere alone. As much as Tara longs to be alone with Jackson, she can’t deny what Opie had done for her over the past couple days- he’d rushed to her aid, no questions asked, cleaned her dad’s blood out of the kitchen, locked up her house… all in the middle of the night. No doubt he’s wondering just how often he’ll wind up playing the third wheel now that she and Jackson are dating, regardless of how happy for them he is. She gives him a reassuring smile.   
  
“Sure. Burgers sound great-“

“-but let’s meet early. Maybe 5 or so,” Jackson interrupts, prompting Opie to shoot him a strange look.   
  
“Okay? You’ll only get about thirty minutes in at the hospital, but I’m game.” Tara’s not sure what Jackson has in mind, but she instantly jumps on board.   
  
“Yeah, I don’t need much time to visit with dad. He’s kind of a dick, and he doesn’t seem to want me there anyway. We’ll meet you there right after the hospital.” Both boys nod, and the matter is settled.

* * *

 

Tara sighs as she pushes the remainder of her fries around her plate with a particularly long specimen. Her father had been marginally more pleasant than the day before; while he hadn’t yelled at her to leave, he’d mostly sat in stubborn silence while she asked awkward questions about his condition or responded with a gruff yes or no to practically anything else. They’d left for the diner shortly afterward to talk and gorge themselves on luxuriously greasy burgers and fries- Tara scooted close to Jackson’s hip, Opie on the opposite side. The two boys had been cracking up for the last several minutes- apparently, the Andrews kid had mysteriously reappeared after lunch with a black eye and a busted lip, and Kyle had asked him if he’d accidentally walked into a doorknob. _Yeah, har har_.

“You know…” she interjects, causing the laughter to die away. “…you don’t need to go kicking ass every time someone’s a dick.” She raises an eyebrow as both boys immediately try to keep the guilty looks off their faces. Opie’s first to answer.   
  
“We didn’t kick his ass, Tara. We just roughed him up a little. _Lowell’s_ the one who kicked his ass.” Tara’s mouth drops open.

“Lowell?” Jackson nods.   
  
“Yep. The guy needs to fight his own battles at some point- he’s been letting people talk shit about his old man all summer. It was time we helped him stop being a pussy; all we did was make sure he got Andrews alone. Though I _might’ve_ accidentally grazed his face with my, uh, fist, when we were helping him meet up with Lowell.” He catches her conflicted look and smirks. “Don’t be jealous. We can set up a meeting for you, too, if you’d like to take a couple of shots.” Tara rolls her eyes.   
  
“No, thanks. I told David earlier, I don’t need a boy to take care of my shit.” At the mention of David, Jackson’s face tenses again. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Jackson, let it _go_. David Hale doesn’t matter, and he _damn_ sure doesn’t determine what I do. What _we_ do. Besides, if I want to teach someone a lesson, I can do it myself.” She smirks right back at him and his eyes spark with interest. Opie lets out a cackle as he watches the two of them, and both turn to look at him questioningly.   
  
“Oh nothin’. I’m just remembering the _last_ time Jax here tried to kick someone’s ass for you. Seems to me I remember _that_ goin’ about this way, too.” Tara crinkles her brow while Jackson immediately turns beet red. “You don’t remember? I think it was second grade or so, and some clown got on your bike.”   
  
“Anthony Garcia” Jackson mumbles, refusing to look at either of them. Opie’s nodding, his smile broadening.

“Riiight. It _was_ that asshole, wasn’t it? Pretty sure he’s over in Stockton as we speak- I think he got a year for B and E over the summer. Anyway… he sat on your bike and told you to go play dolls with the girls or somethin’. Pissed you right off, and Jax along with you. _Then_ he said he was gonna just keep your bike, that girls had no business riding or some shit like that. Jax pulled him off it, threatened his ass with some bullshit about how we were gonna break his arm if he messed with you again- and it _was_ bullshit because at that point neither of us had so much as pushed another kid.” Jackson groans.  
  
“ _Christ_ , Ope, do you really have to remember every goddamn thing?” Opie’s lips curl in a sinister smile.   
  
“Yup. So anyway, Jax here was busy flappin’ his jaw at the kid when out of the blue, you hauled off and jacked him in the gut. He doubled over so you took that Dodgers hat he used to wear and threw it into a mud puddle, too. It was beautiful.” Jackson’s shaking his head, but a half smile is on his lips and Tara leans over to kiss him briefly.   
  
“See? I can handle myself when I need to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still need _you_ , baby.” His smile reaches the rest of his face as she leans in again and suddenly, she’s reminded of their plans to be alone. As if he’s read her mind, Opie shakes his head in amused disgust.   
  
“If _this_ is how the rest of the night’s gonna be, I’ll go ahead and dip out before I see some shit I don’t want to.” Feeling a little guilty, Tara’s apology is on the tip of her tongue when he perks up, something over her shoulders catching his eye. “Matter of fact, y’all can pick up the tab, I got somethin’ to do.” Jax’s mouth drops open as Opie slides out of the booth seat and saunters past them; they turn to watch as he halts next to a booth occupied by a shy looking brunette. Tara can hear him say something to her, his voice rumbling across the diner, but can’t make out the words; they must have been effective, however, since the brunette smiles up at him and nods. Jackson tosses some cash onto the table and as they approach the brunette’s booth, Opie slides in across from her. Grinning, Tara takes Jackson’s hand to lead him out of the diner and towards his bike; something tells her Opie’s going to be just fine.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, they’re bumping down a country road that’s more of a trail than anything- Jackson stops about a quarter mile along a ramshackle wooden fence and cuts the motor. He doesn’t say anything, just takes her hand and pulls her along behind him, stepping over a low point in the fence and following an overgrown path to an immense willow that’s even bigger than the one in the park back in Charming. They duck between its hanging branches where the dusk that’s been creeping in is even hazier, and Jackson stops just short of the tree to shrug off his backpack. Crouching over the bag, he yanks out a plaid wool blanket, shakes it out, and spreads it at the base of the tree.

Watching him work, Tara feels a catch in her throat; he really _is_ beautiful, she thinks for the umpteenth time in the past week. As he finishes and stands, brushing his fingers against his jeans, her eyes pause on his hands- those long, sturdy fingers that she’d been thinking about all day, imagining them skimming up her sides, trailing over her breasts, pushing into her center… reluctantly, she drags her eyes away and up his body to find his brilliant blues piercing her with a fierce look of desire.

Trapped as she is by his gaze, she’s surprised when he doesn’t advance on her, but reaches up to unzip his hoodie and shrug it off. Never breaking eye contact, he rolls it and stretches his long body across the blanket, tucking the hoodie underneath his head and reaching an arm out in invitation. Tara stays rooted to the spot- she’s been imagining this since the last time they’d been alone, and in her mind, she’d pushed him up against a wall, a tree (some solid surface) and taken his mouth like she’d wanted to countless times since staying in his parents’ house. Now, though, her feet seem rooted to the ground, the sheer anticipation of being in his arms without interruptions is overwhelming.

Somewhere outside the tree shrouding them from the dusk a crow speaks, the caw sending them both jolting- Jackson into a half-seated position on the blanket and Tara into motion, finally breaching the distance between them. He wastes no time pulling her to him and immediately fuses his mouth to hers, drawing her down onto his lap to press against her in a way that already feels familiar. Dragging his hands to her hips, he sets her rocking against him, his mouth never leaving hers; Tara wants him everywhere at once- his hands on her skin, in her hair, cupping her jaw, _inside_ her… he obliges her without ever hearing the words, smoothing those exquisite fingers down her neck, dragging her overshirt down her shoulder and brushing up her arm with the backs of his fingers.

For days now, every time their lips have touched, someone or something has stopped them before they got where they both wanted to go- the thought of being interrupted, _actual_ interruptions by Gemma, JT, or Opie- and now that they’re finally truly alone, Tara is determined that nothing will pull them apart. She finishes what Jackson started and shrugs out of her overshirt; her t-shirt presents a bit more of a problem and she has to release his lips briefly as she yanks it over her head, but he makes up for it by slamming his mouth to hers the moment it clears her brow.

Jackson pushes her gently back onto the blanket and looms over her, tendrils of blonde hair brushing her face as he lowers his head to hers to present one, two, three smacking kisses to her mouth before grasping the hem of his white t-shirt and tossing it away. She’s already unbuttoning her jean shorts by the time he returns and he knocks her hands away to unzip her fly and ease the shorts over her hips, down her legs, and off her ankles, smoothing both hands up her legs on his way back up. Separating them slightly, he moves his hips between her legs and dips his head to hers once again, hovering over her.

Tara doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anything so badly as she wants the blue eyed boy stretched out above her, doesn’t think she could stop kissing him at this moment if her life depended on it; she’s also becoming more sure with every moment that this full-to-bursting feeling she has in her heart whenever he’s around is complete and utter love. They’d made their hesitant, half-declarations the night of his birthday, but “I think I love you” no longer seems enough, and kissing him breathless seems to stop well short of expressing the way she desires to know each and every part of him, body and soul.

To that end, she reaches between them and pops his fly open with ease, a level of skill that surprises them both; he drags his head back a fraction of an inch to regard her with amused eyes before stilling to let her yank his jeans over his hips. Even as he kicks them the rest of the way off, she’s lifting- mouth straining to seek his, hips reaching to meet his. She groans in relief when he lowers his body to rest on hers, her panties and his boxers the only thin barrier separating them as his hips start moving, mimicking the act of love she’s not sure how much longer she can resist.

Tara doesn’t know if anything’s ever felt this good- the hard plane of flesh thrusting against the part of her that’s been aching for him since this morning. Her hands snake under his arms to reach around and grip his shoulders and she doesn’t realize until he slows his hips a minute later just how much she’d been digging her nails in; as she soothes her fingertips over the area she’s just left, she can feel ten narrow indentations littering each side. He trails his hot breath down her cheek, her neck, pausing to lightly bite her collarbone before moving on to press his tongue to the lace of her bra, wetting a circle just over her nipple. He bites that lightly, too, before bestowing the same upon its twin and continuing his journey downward.

Jackson’s hair is falling in his eyes and tickling her belly, causing her to squirm and suck in a breath sharply; he kisses each of her now-prominent hipbones before replacing his mouth with his hands and holds her fast to the blanket. Tara closes her eyes and waits for his fingers to tuck beneath the elastic of her panties and pull them down, but he’s still, _waiting_. When she opens her eyes in question, he’s staring at her, stretched out on the bottom half of the blanket, hair tickling her thighs. He tries to speak but it comes out a strangled whisper; they hadn’t said a word since the diner, a soft moan here and there the only energy either of them had been willing to waste on anything other than each other. She frowns in question, but continues the silence. Until-

“I… can I taste you?” Tara’s breath seems to leave her as a rush of warmth floods the area Jackson’s hovering over. His eyes are wide, his face sober, and for the life of her she doesn’t know how to answer him. She wants to know him in all ways, wants him to know all the parts of her, but her mind is racing at the thought of his mouth on her… _there_ ; she flushes, and she’s sure he notices even in the rapidly diminishing light.

She’d known people do this, been aware it’s a way to share pleasure with someone until both are ready to take that final step… she’d just never thought about how to go about it. Frantically, she tries to remember her shower that morning, if she’d taken any extra care to make herself presentable; _Christ_ , it had been _hours_ since then. Unlike his previous ministrations with his fingers- which she’d spent countless moments reliving over the past few days- she’d never really considered this, though she suspects she’d have imagined herself immaculately prepared and reclining on a soft bed, with Jackson reassuring her that he knew exactly what to do.   
  
“Tara. _Can I_?” She’s jerked back to reality and can do nothing but nod, slowly. She wants to ask him if he’s sure, ask him what to _do_ , but she can’t seem to will any words to come out. As always, he seems to read her expression and she sends up a silent prayer of thanks that this boy who knows her better than anyone in the world is the one here with her now, experiencing all her firsts right along with her.

“I’m not real sure how this works… but I am sure about one thing- _I want to know what you taste like_ ,” he breathes against her panties, pressing a kiss there before continuing. _God…_ “Just lie back, babe.” And as his voice trails off, he exhales against her and her hips seem to rise of their own volition. His hands at her hipbones press her back to the blanket, holding her still as he darts his tongue out to touch her panties, using the flat of it to meet her wetness with his own. She wants nothing more than to twist her hips, to push up against him; even with all the sensations she’s feeling, the only word that forms in her mind is _more_ … For a moment, she’s sure he recognizes this because he releases her hips; a nanosecond later, he’s yanking her panties down her legs almost roughly, ridding her of them so he can lie between her thighs again. Before she can think, he’s pressing his lips to her again, this time with no barrier between them.

Kiss after kiss Jackson bestows upon her inner thighs, her slit, her hipbones, the patch of hair only he has seen; then his tongue darts out to mimic his earlier movements, trailing along the same places one by one. She doesn’t know any more than he does how this is supposed to work- all she knows is that the one place he hasn’t touched yet is the one place she wants him.

He’s nuzzling her inner thigh, eyes closed, when something breaks within her, and she can no sooner stop herself from moving as she can from loving him. One hand trails down her belly to slowly stroke the center of her world at this moment, just as he’d inadvertently taught her during both their previous encounters; the other reaches to ghost a few fingers along his jaw, gently stirring his face towards where she wants- no, _needs_ \- his mouth.

Jackson’s eyes fly open at her touch, widen at the sight of her own fingers following the path his had that morning in bed at the cabin. Swallowing, he seems unable to tear his eyes away as she runs a finger along herself, spreading moisture upwards before circling slowly around her most sensitive spot.

“ _Jesus,_ you’re so wet, Tara” he whispers, somewhat unnecessarily, because she can feel how wet she is for him, _only_ him. Unable to help herself any more, she plumbs one finger, then two against her bud, jerking her head to the side and closing her eyes against the sensation- when suddenly Jackson’s fingers encircle her wrist and drag it away. Her head rolls back to center, eyes drawn to his like a magnet as he dips his head and finally, _finally_ , drags his tongue across her for the first time. Unable to stop the soft moans and murmurs pouring from her lips, she strokes his face lightly with her fingertips as he massages her with the rough flat of his tongue, eyes locked on hers.

He’s mumbling a litany she can’t comprehend as he builds a slow rhythm to his caresses and she realizes she’s breathing in that same rhythm as he brings her higher, higher towards the point of no return… only to switch to the tip of his tongue. The roller coaster she’s on loses traction and slips several notches back down the hill, only to climb even faster with the completely new sensation of the tip of his tongue drawing patterns on her wet, silky skin. This time, she can understand a word or two he occasionally murmurs against her skin - _sweet_ is in the mix, she thinks. Again, she’s reaching the precipice and her eyes slam closed as she focuses on nothing but the sensation he’s giving her.

She’s almost, _almost_ there when he switches tacks again and she whimpers in the half-second he loses contact with her… only to tilt completely over the edge when he sucks her entire nub into his warm mouth. The tingling turns into white-hot jolts and her entire body loses purchase on the blanket beneath as she falls to pieces in his mouth. She’s vaguely aware of his face hovering over hers as she rides out her climax and then his mouth is on hers, her taste on his tongue, her wetness on his chin.

Jackson seizes her hair, almost desperately, and thrusts his boxer-clad bulge against her core, stroking her tongue in rhythm. His body grinds against hers as she grips his hips and rocks against him- wondering fleetingly if she’s making a mess of the outside of his boxers before a second orgasm washes over her, and she moans his name against his shoulder before sinking her teeth into it a bit and nearly passing out. She’s dimly aware of his hips stuttering and Jackson groaning her own name in her ear before his heavy weight presses down on her and they both still- all except their panting breaths.

They lay that way for some time- Jackson stretched out on top of her with his face buried in her neck, her mouth on his shoulder. The sheer emotion gripping Tara’s heart seems to have worked its way around her throat, constricting her breathing and strangling her voice. She wants to take his face in his hands, look into his eyes, tell him the _I thinks_ are no longer enough- not after this… but she can’t find the strength nor the will to speak. Minutes later, he drags his head from the crook of her neck, pressing kisses to her cheek before settling his forehead on hers, apparently too spent to hold his head up. His eyes are shining with emotion in the near-darkness and she’s momentarily afraid of what she feels for him… until he whispers, eyes never leaving hers.   
  
“I love you, Tara.” She’s tempted to let her eyes flutter closed in relief, but keeps them open as she says the words that have been in her heart since before she was eight but that she’s only been sure of for a matter of hours.   
  
“I love you, too, Jackson.” 


	19. Ch 19

The hallway is empty as Jax closes the beaten wooden door behind him and pockets the hall pass he’d taken off the hook inside; he figures it’ll be handy to keep around for situations such as this one- Tara has some meeting after school and Opie’s been a fucking phantom for days, so he sees no reason to sit through Geometry by himself if nobody’s waiting to ride home with him. He’d promised Tara he’d be there to pick her up at 5:30 and its now- he checks the wall clock- 2:30, so there’s plenty of time to kill before he’s got to be back here. He pauses in front of his locker and considers sifting through its contents for the proper books and notebooks, but it’s Friday and he knows damn well there won’t be any homework getting done over the weekend. No sense in trying to fool himself.

Jax grabs his mostly empty backpack and slams the locker door closed, eyeing the further reaches of the hallway for some sign of an adult. Finding none, he ducks quickly out the side door and makes a beeline for the Dyna- the quicker he can get the fuck out of here, the better. He’s about to start it up when he freezes, sure he’s forgetting something- _but what the hell is it?_ It’s seconds before he finally realizes that it’s been days since he’d ridden without Tara on the back with her arms wrapped around him, and something about riding alone just feels… off.

Smiling despite his revelation, he fires up the bike and takes off, casting a last, furtive glance at the parking lot; he’s in the clear- no security officers, no teachers- and Jax realizes once again how content, how _light_ he feels compared to a couple weeks ago. Tara’s return had been a contributing factor to the overall fucked-up state he’d been in at first, but now that things are on an even keel between them, she’s proven- once again- to be one of the only things that can pull him back from the red-rimmed haze he tends to go into when anger or stress overtake him.

Jax has always had a hair-trigger temper, which everyone assumes he gets from his father; while it’s true that JT can snap from calm and collected to nothing short of deadly on a dime, it’s Gemma from whom he’s inherited his propensity for rage and destruction. JT closes off his emotions to make threats he’s sure to follow through on, while Gemma reacts and eliminates the need to make the threat in the first place. The other difference, he thinks, is that JT maintains that steadfast, deadly calm until its recipient manages to redeem himself; Gemma, on the other hand, will either strike out and then instantly pull whoever had angered her into her arms and call him sweetheart, or bury a grudge so deep into her heart that she wouldn’t be able to dig it back out if she wanted to. Allowing redemption is not Gemma Teller’s strong suit.

That’s one reason Jax had been unable to get his parents’ discussion earlier this week out of his mind. He isn’t sure what had gone down between the two of them, but he knows it’s s _omething_ ; both of them had seemed hurt- angry, even- and he knows that his father isn’t the type to let things go unless he truly believed the situation warranted it and the person was deserving of his grace. His mother would have either lashed out and been done with it, or is carrying a grudge. She liked to say Tellers love deep, hate deeper, and he’d seen both his parents make the saying a reality- JT with select members of his club, Gemma with her estranged mother.

He’d wanted to run his thoughts by Tara- she’d heard everything he had and she’s one of the most intuitive people he’s ever met- but the only time he’d had alone with her away from listening ears this past week had been their drive out to the Wahewa reservation, and _that_ hadn’t lent itself to much talking at all. A grin spreads over him at the memory of Tara laid out beneath him, the sounds she’d made as his mouth played on the sweetest part of her, the way she’d shown him exactly what it was she’d needed from him… _Christ,_ the image of her slender fingers running over that impossibly silky skin is practically burned into his retinas and he’s not sure he’s stopped imagining it since it had happened. _Fuck_. Good thing he’s almost at his destination, because riding with a hard-on isn’t exactly pleasant.

Yeah, Jax is pretty sure this has been the best week of his life, so far. Despite his parents’ argument and the niggling thoughts about whatever history they’d been discussing, he’d also heard his dad vow that he, JT, was back; back at the head of the Reaper Table, back as the head of their family. Jax also has his bike, a best friend to ride alongside, and a girl that’s not only the most beautiful girl in the world as far as he’s concerned, but a girl that’s proving herself to be his true North in so many ways. She’s also the one that’s always leaving him wanting more. He truly doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of her; every encounter so far has led him further and further past the point of no return.

He’d built his reputation on being the ladies’ man, the Prince of Charming- as much as he hated that term. Though word had gotten round regarding his proclivities- especially at the clubhouse- he knows it had been assumed at Charming High that he’d fucked his share of girls, either croweaters or CHS girls that had remained anonymous. He’s not altogether sure how much Tara knows about his previous habits; though he’d reassured her he’d never touched or tasted another- at least not _there_ \- they hadn’t ever broached the subject of actual sex. For now, he’s content to let things progress little by little, prove to her that she means so much more than any of the others. His heart, however, wants to reassure her that he’s never given any of them _that_ part of himself, that little piece of his heart and soul he’s now endlessly thankful he hadn’t wasted on some faceless blonde.

As Jax turns into the cemetery, Tara on his mind and a smile on his face, he thinks it fitting that this first visit is under these circumstances; he’s alone, able to say or do whatever comes to his head without worrying about what someone else is thinking, but he’s also happier than he’s been in a long time. Gemma was right, he thinks; Tommy wouldn’t want to see his family the way it had been the past year or so- miserable, drowning, _divided_. He slows the Dyna near a tree that looks familiar and cuts the engine, setting off on foot down one of the soft gravel paths. Jax realizes he’d remembered the location fairly well from the funeral a year ago- he’s in what’s undoubtedly the children’s section based on the occasional white marble lambs and carvings of bicycles and balloons that adorn many of the headstones.   
  
All the way at the end of one of the rows, he spots what he’s looking for- a small granite stone with the inscription “Thomas Wayne Teller”, an engraving of a vintage motorcycle underneath. Crossing the grass, he shrugs off his backpack and drops it near the headstone, sinking down beside it. The too-familiar lump in his throat and stinging in his eyes is here, like an old friend, but after a few moments of thought he realizes that he no longer feels like someone’s prying his chest open with a crowbar. It’ll be a minute before he trusts himself to speak- yet more evidence that Tara’s truly the only one he’s comfortable opening up to, considering that he doesn’t like to look like a pussy even in front of a row of headstones- so he runs his hand over the smooth, flat top of the stone, brushes a few stray blades of grass onto the ground. Giving the stone a pat, he settles back onto the grass, resting his head on his backpack. It’s several minutes before he begins talking.  
  
“Hey Tommy. I’m, uh, sorry I haven’t been by to see ya. I’d tell you shi-uh, stuff’s been hard and it wouldn’t be a lie, but it’s no excuse. So, I’m sorry. And I’ll be by more often, okay? Promise.” He sighs, reaching out to rest a hand on the side of the stone. “I miss you, bro. I miss having you around the house, asking questions about my bike, my homework, and stuff. You were smarter than me anyway, you’d have shown my ass up at school, I just know it.” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean, that’s where I’m supposed to be right now- learning about geometry and all that. Like I’ll need to know that a squared plus b squared equals c squared to take the gavel someday.”

“Anyway. I think we’re all okay, mom, dad and I. It was rough; still is, I guess, but we’re a family. We just miss you. Man, I wish you were here now- remember Tara? She’s the one that watched you during the club fundraiser we had at the park that one summer, the one where Otto and Clay showed up with those dogs Clay bought to guard T-M, remember? Mom let ‘em have it for letting them escape and get into the meat cooler at the barbecue tent… Well, I guess you were too little then, but Tara’s the one who played with you under that big tree in the park for the afternoon while all the adults ran around. I remember Ma being almost jealous, you didn’t want to let go of Tara when it was time to go home.” Jax chuckles at the memory of a chubby Tommy clinging to Tara’s neck- it seems his generation of Teller men had known what they’d wanted from early on and he’s now sure they’d made the right decision even then.

“Well, Tara, she left not long after that, but she’s back in Charming now. She’s my girlfriend, Tommy. I know if you could, you’d give me a ton of sh- flak for having one, but I just wanted to tell you ‘cause I’m happy for the first time since you died, and it’s because of her. I told her I _loved_ her the other day… up till now it’s been just you, mom and dad, but when you’re older, you-.” That’s always been the hardest part about Tommy’s death, Jax thinks- having to come to the realization, over and over again, that he’ll never grow up, never experience the life Jax had. Actually sitting and talking aloud to his brother for the first time since his death just hammers that point home- he’d been talking as if someday, Tommy was going to grow up and have his own girlfriend, his own life. “Well, I guess you don’t understand. But I love you all, I just love her in a different way. Some day, I’ll bring her out here to meet you again; I think you’d still like her.” A soft smile spreads across his face. “You just gotta promise me you’ll let me have this one, alright? You always could charm your nurses, all the old ladies…so leave Tara for me, alright bro?”  
  
He pats the stone again, still smiling, pleasantly surprised by how easily this has come to him after a year of avoiding it, heartened at how soothing talking to his brother has actually been. He knows that maybe Tommy isn’t actually somewhere listening, or maybe he is, but Jax feels more comfort than he’d thought he would at talking his thoughts out at Tommy’s gravesite regardless of his yet-unformed beliefs about the afterlife. What’s still on his mind isn’t something that would have been for Tommy’s ears, however.

He’d thought, on some level, that his brother should know about he and Tara, know the Teller family was coming out of it’s year-long pit of despair; however, he’s still got some shit to work through on his own- especially regarding Gemma and JT. He also doesn’t think Tommy needs to hear about his newfound obsession with defining Tara’s unique flavor- his mind had run the gamut all the way to peach- but he isn’t quite ready to leave the serene calm of the cemetery. Then, the little notebook he’d tossed in his backpack the first day of school pops into his mind and he’s instantly unzipping his backpack, fishing around for it and a partially chewed pencil. Settling against Tommy’s stone, he opens the pad to a fresh page and begins to write. 

* * *

 

Jax pulls into the T-M lot to find it nearly full of bikes, odd for this early on a Friday; normally, the hangaround mechanics (Lowell, Sr. and a couple others on a rotating basis) would be finishing up the last of the day’s work and the patched members would be off somewhere taking care of whatever club business that day was. Instead, the place is packed with members and croweaters milling around the picnic tables-strange because it isn’t quite party hours, either. As he parks on the far side of the lot, he notices that Ope’s about the only one not here; they’d agreed to meet up at the clubhouse to try to snag a few beers and get in a couple games of pool before the Sons got too wild and crazy. He still isn’t sure how Tara will react to all-out SAMCRO debauchery, and he’s not willing to push it yet.   
  
“Opie’s not here yet?” comes Tara’s voice from behind him. They’re late themselves- her academic-advisory-bullshit meeting had gone fifteen minutes over (and who the fuck schedules a meeting for Friday afternoon)- so Opie should be here by now.   
  
“Guess not” he replies, unconcerned. C’mon, let’s go inside before everyone else does and grab the pool table. They start off across the lot and Tara double steps to keep up.   
  
“He’s been putting a lot of effort in, huh?” She’s a little breathless by the time they’re halfway to the clubhouse. Confused, Jax slows and furrows his brow at her.  
  
“Effort?”   
  
“Yeah. With that girl.” Huh? His face must have given away the fact that he’s at a complete loss, because she rolls her eyes. “The one from the diner? The new girl? The one he’s been flirting with in the hallway between classes?” She stops walking when he continues to stare at her. “Jesus, Jackson, where have you been?” He stops alongside her, pulls her into him by her belt loops, smiling.  
  
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little distracted by someone lately.” He kisses her, then, not caring about all the patched members who are likely watching the show. A few catcalls and whistles echo across the lot and when he releases her she’s blushing, which is so adorable he pulls her in for one more. God, he can’t get enough of her. He takes her hand and they continue towards the clubhouse. “So Ope’s chasing some girl?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? You said he’s sort of a serial monogamist, right?”

  
“More or less. He’s pretty good at keeping a girlfriend, at least for a while. But the girls usually come to us- well, to _him_.” He doesn’t miss the look in Tara’s eye at his slipup. _Fuck._ Maybe if he ignores it, she will too. “If someone comes along that he likes, they’ll hang out for a bit- mostly at school but I think that’s because he didn’t have his driver’s license until this summer. The girl usually gets pissed when he spends weekends at the clubhouse or with me, they break up, he talks her out of it, and the cycle repeats itself until one of them is over it and he drowns his sorrows in a croweater. But it’s always been a _girl_ pursuing _him_ , so this is a new development.” Tara’s mouth curls into a smirk.  
  
“Well maybe he’s taking a page out of _your_ book.” Again, Jax looks at her blankly.   
  
“Chasing girls? I don’t-“  
  
“You do. You chased _me_. I didn’t want this to happen, remember? Then you talked me onto the back of your bike, took me to SAMCRO’s little hideaway, and, uh… kissed me senseless until I agreed.” She’s still smirking, but the challenge in her eyes is real, Jax decides. She hadn’t let his slip earlier go, he’s gathering. Still, though, he’s not going to let her put this all on him.  
  
“Nah, babe, it was a little more two-sided than all that. Seems like I remember _you_ being the one to fall asleep on me, and I also don’t remember you _stopping_ me any of those times I kissed you senseless.” Her smirk is a genuine grin, now, and the way she’s looking up at him with her big green eyes flashing makes him want to lay her down on top of one of the picnic tables, Sons be damned. His girl loves to challenge him and he’s more than willing to let her.   
  
“Alright, Teller, but you just remember who made the moves on who.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, Knowles, you go on and tell yourself that.” They’re grinning at each other stupidly and Jax barely acknowledges Chibs’ cursory “Jackie Boy” or the friendly greetings from the rest of the club. He doesn’t ask what they’re all doing there because he doesn’t particularly care; he’s here to hang out with his best friend and his girl, and besides, it’s not like they’d fill him in on any club secrets or anything anyway.

The interior of the clubhouse is empty as Jax heads behind the bar to snag them each a beer and Tara begins to rack the balls for a game of pool. He finds what he’s looking for and on second thought, grabs two apiece before turning back towards the pool table to see Tara bent over it, straightening the set. He’s spent a lot of time these past few years eyeing the fairer sex, but somehow, everything about Tara knocks him on his ass. _Her_ ass, he thinks, is nothing short of mouthwatering, and the way those long legs look in her signature jean shorts has been enough to have him panting after her even in the most public of places. Gently placing the beers on the coffee table behind her, he presses behind her and gently moves her dark curtain of hair over her shoulder so he can trail a series of kisses down the curve of her neck and onto her bare shoulder.

Like he usually is in Tara’s presence, Jax is hard as a rock; in fact, he’s sure she can feel him pressing against her, close as he is. She doesn’t seem to mind and turns in his arms to throw hers around his neck, kissing him like only she can, heating his blood and making his pulse go crazy against his throat; he groans, feels the impassioned sounds she draws from him rumble through his chest and throat much like the motorcycles he’s faintly aware of approaching outside. He runs his hands up the backs of her bare legs and cups the ass that started all this, gently lifting her just a bit to set her on the wooden edge of the pool table. As if they’d been doing this for years, her legs automatically wrap around his waist and he frees his hands to run across her back, into her hair, down her arms- he wants them everywhere at once and curses the fact that they’re out in the open, exposed in the large room of the clubhouse.

Briefly, he considers pulling her into the open dorm room in the back, but the memory of Red, of all the other girls he’s had in there banishes that thought almost instantly. What he’d give for his own dorm room; he’d been thinking about it for a while now- admittedly, at first with the idea of the ability to lock the door behind himself and some croweater in mind. Unfortunately, whenever Tig patched in, it would undoubtedly go to him and the only other available room was currently being used as storage. So, he contents himself with stringing together warm, wet kisses and lets his hands roam as far as he dares.

Jax is clutching her hair with one hand and pressing her back into him with the other when he hears a low whistle; instantly, Tara’s moving her head back against his hand in an effort to regain her composure in front of whomever is in the room with them. Jax reluctantly rests his forehead against hers for a moment before turning towards the door, his hand trailing on her back.

Clay Morrow’s not one of his favorite Sons, but the guy’s always seemed to be there for his family when it truly counted. After Tommy’s death, he’d been right there behind Piney at the hospital, next to JT at the funeral home, and Jax had heard his dad express his gratitude to Clay at least once for helping hold the club together during a time when he’d had just needed to be alone. Then, when JT had been back and forth to and from Belfast so often, Clay had been one of those that had taken on tailing the Teller family and keeping a watch on the house on the nights JT was gone.

His gruff attitude, however, is second only to Piney and his withering sarcasm probably surpasses even Gemma’s; Jax had never gotten the impression Clay liked him- or anyone for that matter- all too well. However, being a dick is sort of a prerequisite to being SAMCRO, and Jax is sure JT had his reasons for choosing Clay over someone that would have been more pleasant- which would have been anyone besides Piney. It made sense that the other co-owner of Teller-Morrow would be entrusted to look out for the President’s Charming interests when he was out of country, but Jax would rather have woken up to Bobby’s banana bread than Clay’s cigar smoke and derisive attitude. Even now, the smirk is evident on the guy’s face as he plucks a bottle of Jack from the bar top and removes the plastic cap.   
  
“Ahh, I see the little prince has himself a princess. Good to see, we don’t need you getting any more corrupted by our esteemed croweaters. Then again, I don’t know who was corrupting who- that blonde you tapped right before I left came out of the back like she’d never walk the same again.” _What the fuck, Clay?_ Jax feels Tara stiffen beside him at the mention of the croweater, and replies through gritted teeth.   
  
“Must have been someone else, man.” Jax doesn’t know what else to say- Clay’s obviously just trying to make trouble but he can’t lose his shit- not on a patched member when he’s not even a prospect yet, and definitely not on his dad’s business partner and Sergeant-at-Arms. But he can feel his anger begin to rise, and it’s only compounded when Clay continues to speak.   
  
“Yeah, maybe someone who looked like you- your old man, perhaps.” Jax has to bite the insides of both cheeks to stop himself from telling Clay to fuck off, that his dad wouldn’t do that to his mom, especially not here at the goddamn clubhouse. He manages a huff of laughter and changes the subject.  
  
“So where you been?” Clay looks confused for a moment, which passes almost instantly.  
  
“I keep forgetting you’re not privy to club business. I’ve been in Belfast, helping tie up a deal with the Irish- _Prez’s orders_.” Clay flashes him a toothy grin before continuing. “Just got off the plane, as a matter of fact, and I’m dead on my feet. But not dead enough to pass up the party they’re throwin’ for me or the free pussy that comes with it.” Again, Jax cringes internally and he lightly strokes Tara’s back in the hopes of providing some sort of reassurance. She’s still sitting on the edge of the pool table, stiff as a board. _Great._ “Anyway, I’m lookin’ for your old man. He around?”  
  
“Uh… we sort of just got here ourselves, but he might be back in the apartment. I think his bike’s out there.” While the other rooms in the back of the clubhouse were a fairly basic bedroom with some built ins, a double bed and attached bathroom featuring a toilet, sink and stall shower; the apartment had a full bathroom, a bigger bed, a small table and a couple chairs, and a kitchen of sorts. JT and Gemma don’t spend much time there together that he knows of, but he’d grown used to finding his father back there, pecking away at an ancient typewriter and sipping whiskey. This had become more frequent after Tommy’s death- even that summer as the rest of the club and Jax were pouring themselves into booze and women, JT would make an appearance and then disappear into the apartment to write.

  
Clay snorts. “Figures.” He takes a pull from the bottle of Jack, wipes his mouth with a meaty hand, and nods at Tara. “If I were you, I’d take Princess back to that open room now. Once the party really gets started, the place will be crawling with croweaters and hangarounds.” He grins salaciously for a moment before continuing. “For now, your old man and I got some shit to talk through. Enjoy your evening.” Somehow, the wink he aims their way makes Jax feel dirty; then again, it could be everything Clay had just implied- that he’d be dragging Tara off to the open dorm where he’d brought countless girls before her, that several older men and their respective hookups for the night would be doing the same moments later. Tara shudders and he’s guessing she feels the same. Watching as Clay retreats down the back hallway, an idea strikes him and he tugs at Tara’s hand.   
  
“C’mon.” She hops off the pool table and follows for a moment until it’s clear he’s leading her to the hallway as well and then she stills, narrowing her eyes at him.   
  
“If you think I’m going back into that room to hook up with you, _especially_ after Clay suggested it…” He shakes his head, pulling her after him again.   
  
“No! Just hurry up, I’ll explain in a minute.” Bewildered, she trails after him and follows him into the empty dorm room which is steadily darkening in the twilight. Jax locks the door and pulls her towards the bed, rolling his eyes when she recoils. “Sheets are clean,” he whispers, “just come sit with me.” He sends a silent thank you to whatever god is out there that she followed along easily, for once- if she only knew how many times he’d been back here in a completely different situation… He crawls onto the bed and pats the spot next to him, which she gingerly sits in; they lean up against the headboard and Jax points at the ceiling. “See that vent? Way back in the day when shit got too real, we’d go on lockdown and all of us would stay back in the apartment. Ope and I found out right away that anyone talking a little too loud in here would echo right through the vent in there, and vice versa- it’s how he found out about Mary planning to take off the first time.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s shit going on, Tara- I don’t know why my dad would have sent Clay to Belfast instead of going himself, but Clay doesn’t seem too happy to be back. Dad’s said some shit that’s got me wondering, too. And you heard all that the other morning.”

Tara’s eyes are wide in the dark and she nods as Jax motions to the vent. Low voices are drifting from it, though neither can decipher what they’re saying. After a few minutes, she shrugs at him; dammit, maybe he’s read too much into the situation. Unwilling to let the moment go to waste and pushing away the memory of the croweaters he’s had while in that very desk chair, he’s leaning towards her when he’s halted by shouting coming through the vent.   
  
“-some goddamn prospect you can order around!”   
  
“Dammit, Clay, I know that. You’re a partner in this business and my goddamn Sergeant-at-Arms.”   
  
“But ya sent me to that miserable green fuckin’ rock, where I ain’t been since before we parked our bikes in Charming over 15 years ago, and why? To clean up your goddamn mess?”  
  
“What mess? SAMBEL’s in a good place- _finally_. I sent you over there to make nice with the fuckin’ Kings, they’d been askin’ about you and you’d been avoiding them for God knows how long. They _listen_ to you, you’re the only one I could trust to-“  
  
“That ain’t the only reason and you know it, JT.” There’s a long pause, during which Jax glances at Tara, who reaches out and clutches his hand.  
  
“Yeah, it ain’t.” JT says, finally, a little softer than before. “And you know we can’t let that shit bleed all over the club. Your shit, my shit… _both_ of us would be facin’ a Mayhem vote before the week’s out.” _What. The. Fuck. Mayhem?_

“And as much pleasure as I’d get from killin’ ya where ya stand, I also know we go back too far to let that happen. Both of us made our mistakes, and nothin’ good is gonna come of everything spilling out everywhere. We both know that. The way shit was back then, though… one of us was gonna wind up dead. I sent your ass to Belfast to give us some breathing room, you know that. I sure as shit never intended on having to go over there myself but that motherfucker McNeill got himself into that shit with the IRA... Anyway, I didn’t see your goddamn face the whole time I was there; that distance- it’s been the only thing that’s saved this garage and this partnership. All three of us, we gotta let this shit go. Not for us, for SAMCRO.”   
  
Clay doesn’t respond right away and Jax’s mind is running wild with what could be happening in the room next door. This shit is way more serious than he’d expected- _Mayhem votes_? His father expressing the desire to actually fucking _kill_ Clay? The conversation is eerily similar to the one his parents had had the other morning. His train of thought is interrupted by Clay’s voice.   
  
“I know, brother. I _know_. But next time you have an attack of conscience and decide you want me gone, you come to _me_ with that shit instead of issuing some goddamn edict and sending the fucking prospect to take me to the airport without another word. You want my ass gone? Take a Nomad vote to the table, see if everyone else agrees. Better yet, ask your _Old Lady_ what she-“ Clay’s interrupted by a loud crack, which Jax can only imagine is a fist hitting a face- likely JT’s fist and Clay’s face by the way the conversation’s been going. He can hear Clay’s laughter in the silence left behind.   
  
“My Old Lady is not your goddamn concern!” JT’s voice, usually deadly calm in confrontation, is as loud as Jax has ever heard it.

“Oh, you’ve made _that_ crystal clear. I hope the two a’ you reached the same conclusion. You know, for _SAMCRO’s_ sake.” Clay’s voice is filled with sarcasm and the remnants of his earlier laughter.

“Goddammit, Clay. This ain’t what I wanted, brothers fighting brothers. Hell, _Nomad_ ain’t what I want, and I don’t think you do either.”  
  
“So what do we do, huh?”  
  
“We handle it like _men_ , brother. We put this shit aside because SAMCRO ain’t about my pride, or yours. It’s about brotherhood- about _family_ ; I’m not earning for myself anymore, I’m puttin’ food on my family’s table, keepin’ lights on in my house. And we keep this shit up, there ain’t gonna be anyone left to keep the lights on for.”  
  
“Yeah.” Clay’s response is brusque and Jax wishes for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes that he could be a fly on that wall to see his face. Suddenly, he hears heels click by in the hallway outside and the apartment door open- Gemma’s voice echoes down the hallway and through the vent.   
  
“Oh. Shit, sorry-“  
  
“Naw, Gem, we’re done.” JT’s voice comes in return, though not quite as loud as hers since he’s not in the hall.   
  
“Yeah… we’re _done.”_ Clay’s voice sounds as if it’s near the hall door, and his voice carries an undertone Jax can’t quite define. “I’m gonna go find me a distraction. See ya ‘round.” The door closes and Jax can hear Clay’s heavy footfalls as they tread down the hall, and then the round of shouts that greet him as he nears the main room of the clubhouse.   
  
“ _Jesus Christ_ , John, you _hit_ him? What the _hell_ were you thinking?” His mother’s voice is a much higher register than he’s used to- she’s practically shrieking at JT.   
  
“Don’t start, Gem. We’re good. It’s done with, so let it lie.”  
  
“Yeah, and how many of your _brothers_ are gonna let it lie once they see his goddamn eye? What are you gonna tell _them_?”   
  
“I suppose I’ll let Clay explain himself if it comes down to it, because I goddamn well know there ain’t a single member out there that wouldn’t’ve done the same thing in the moment. But I guarantee you he won’t. He’ll brush it off, say it’s _ancient shit_ that’s been handled or something. I know him too well. Like I said, _let it lie_.” Gemma lets out a huff and then speaks so quietly Jax can barely hear her.   
  
“You OK?”   
  
“Yeah baby, I’m fine. I just need my wife.” Jax hears nothing for a minute or two. Then-  
  
“Not here, John. Let’s go home.”  
  
“Alright. I’ll say my goodbyes, close up the chapel, and I’ll be right behind you. Jackson here?”   
  
“I’m not sure, I came over from the office. If he is, he’s probably out at the pool table with Ope and Tara. You make sure those two don’t spend the night here, John, you hear me? Tara doesn’t need to be around when the prospect starts cuttin’ loose. Hell, I don’t even think Piney’s old enough to see that shit.” JT chuckles.   
  
“Sure thing, darlin’. I’ll see if I can find ‘em before I go. You should be in bed when I get there… _but don’t go to sleep_.” They’re laughing softly now, together, and Jax can’t help the feeling of relief that washes over him.   
  
“Oh there won’t be any _sleeping_ , that’s for sure. Hurry home, baby.” With that, Gemma opens the door and moves down the hall, her footsteps fading as she nears the main room. JT follows a minute later and both Jax and Tara breathe sighs of relief.   
  
“What the hell was that all about?” Tara hisses at him, eyes wide. Jax shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t know, babe. But they just had the same conversation he and my mom did about letting the past go. Something _happened_ , and I don’t know if whatever’s between Clay and my dad is the same as what’s between my dad and my mom, but it seems like too big a coincidence to be two separate problems.”   
  
“JT said the _three_ of them needed to get past it. You think something happened between your dad and Clay that Gemma knows about?”   
  
“Maybe. Or maybe she was involved… except Old Ladies don’t usually get in the middle of club shit. But JT talked about a _Mayhem_ vote, Tara, that’s serious shit. You have to fuck up pretty bad for them to vote Mayhem.” _Jesus Christ_ , his heart’s hammering in his chest at the thought of the Sons seated around the table, calmly voting for his father to die.   
  
“He’s the President, Jackson. They won’t kill him, and they won’t kill Clay, not two of their officers. Piney won’t let that happen.” Her face betrays her words, and Jax knows that she’s more scared than he is, despite what she says.   
  
“Piney’s the VP, not God. Whatever happened, if it comes out, they’d _have_ to vote on it; you’re right, though, Piney’s my dad’s best friend and I don’t think he’d ever vote Mayhem on him. Maybe Clay. But I think Mayhem has to be unanimous…” He resists the urge to hit something- maybe one of the bed pillows- with his fist. He’s never wanted to be a Son more; at the same time, he’s never been more afraid, more aware of what that means, than in this moment. Still, if he were at the table, he’d be able to help, be able to do… _something_. Raising a shaking hand to his head, he runs his fingers through his hair. _Christ_ , he wishes he had a cigarette; then, he realizes he’s got something even better than a cigarette, and he shifts on the bed to face her.   
  
Tara looks afraid, confused, concerned… dammit, he hates that she’s gotten dragged into this; at the same time, it’s a relief to have someone to share it all with and he’s more than glad to have her calming touch at the ready. He’s tempted to lay his head in her lap and ask her to hold him- in fact, its what he wants more than anything in the world at this very moment. But he’s done being selfish, and it’s comforting in itself to know that she needs him almost as much as he needs her- at least for now.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Jax slides them down on the bed until his head is resting on the pillow and hers is on his chest, his arms joined at her back and hugging her close. She throws a leg over his and tucks her top arm under his outstretched one, and just like that they’re as close as they can possibly be with clothing on. Almost instantly, he can feel his breathing even and some of the choking fear begin to recede from his throat. Minutes later, the sigh Tara lets out sounds contented instead of shaky, and Jax smiles to himself at the thought.

He’s nodding off in the comfort of her arms when someone tries to open the dorm room door; having failed, whoever it is out there fumbles with some keys and Jax whispers near the top of Tara’s head. “Pretend you’re asleep.” Moments later, the door opens and through a slit in his eyes, he can see his father silhouetted against the brighter light of the hallway. JT stands there a moment before rounding the bed and sitting by Jax’s side. He pats his ankle, gently at first, then with a bit more vigor when Jax doesn’t immediately stir.   
  
“Son.” Jax cracks his eyes open and tries to look half-awake, which isn’t too much of a stretch since he’d been close to falling asleep minutes earlier. Shit, Tara might _be_ asleep, she hasn’t moved since she’d sighed earlier.   
  
“Hmmm?” Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

“You two gotta get up. It’s nearly seven and everyone’s here- you know what that means.” Jax gives his father a brief nod. He’s smiling, and if Jax hadn’t overheard everything he had twenty minutes earlier, he’d never have known anything was amiss. He nudges Tara, who stirs a bit and squeezes him tighter; he can’t help but smile at the sensation and JT eyes him knowingly. “Uh… you two…well, you should probably, you know, _neck_ … someplace else. This place can get crazy and-“   
  
“Dad!” Jax interrupts. _Jesus_ , he hopes Tara’s asleep. “We came in here to talk, and just fell asleep. See? All our clothes are still on.”   
  
“Yeah, I can see that.” JT smiles again. “You just keep your girl outta here- I’m not the only one with a key.” He stands, ruffles Jax’s hair a bit before starting for the door, where he pauses. “Oh, Ope’s here, lookin’ for the two a’ ya; he’s out at the picnic tables with his old man and I’m about to head home.” JT’s about to turn towards the hallway when Jax manages to ask-  
  
“You’re not staying for Clay’s party?” JT’s expression clouds a bit as he answers.  
  
“Nah, I’ve been gone a lot lately- I think your mom will probably kill me if I don’t show up in the next half hour or so. I’m gonna have a drink, toast Clay’s safe return, and then head out.” Jax nods, thoughtfully. As JT disappears into the hall, leaving the door open behind him, Tara lifts her head.  
  
“He’s right, you know.” _Huh?_  
  
“About?”  
  
“Keeping me out of here. I’m not some croweater, Jackson, and I know you know that. But maybe you need reminded every now and again.” _Jesus._   
  
“Tara…” She puts her fingers on his lips to stop him.   
  
“I know. I _do_. You and I, that’s where we’re headed, isn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow at her, confused. “Sex, I mean,” she clarifies. Instantly, Jax can feel himself getting hard at the mere thought- he doesn’t trust himself to speak so he just nods. “You know I’ve never…” she trails off, then, and he’s unsure of what to say. A burst of laughter comes from the clubhouse and jolts him into action.   
  
“I know. But Tara, you’re not the only one. _I’ve_ never done any of this stuff I’m doing with you. I know you don’t want to hear about the croweaters, the other girls, so I promise this is the only time I’ll mention it. What I did with them- let _them_ do to _me_ , actually… it was all about _me_. It was selfish, about getting off, distracting myself from how shitty everything else was turning out to be.”

“With me and you… it’s about us. About showing you how much I care, how much I love you. Because I _do_ love you, Tara, I think I always have. And what we do together… I can’t get enough of it- I can’t get enough of _you._ But we won’t go any further until you’re ready- I want the first time to be perfect and that means it damn sure won’t be in this room.” He knows he sounds like a fucking pussy, its just that he doesn’t care. Something about her has this effect on him, makes the words come pouring out until he’s laid his heart bare.

“Nothing’s perfect, Jackson.” Her hand is on his cheek, and theoretically, he knows she’s right; he just can’t imagine anything or anyone that makes him feel this way _not_ being perfect.   
  
“Our first time will be, and if that means I have to wait a month, a year… I’ll do it.” He vows, then pouts his lips, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “I just might explode before then.” She blushes and buries her face in his chest for a moment before surfacing to smirk at him.   
  
“Oh, it won’t be a year- and I know I can make sure you don’t explode in the mean time.” He raises his eyebrows as she leans in to kiss him, cutting off his retort. “For now, though- I love you back. And I think I always have.” She pushes against his chest to sit up on the bed and tugs on his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go find Opie.”

As they enter the main room of the clubhouse, the Sons are well on their way to the height of Clay’s welcome home party. The booze is flowing, croweaters are scattered around the edges rubbing up on Sons and hangarounds and Clay is sitting at the bar, his bottle of Jack half-gone, a blonde on his lap. Jax wants to get Tara out of here before someone starts stripping, before Tig starts getting head on the pool table, and is about to grab her hand and pull her around the edge and toward the door when someone whistles, loudly; everyone quiets and shifts their focus to JT, who’s approaching the bar as he speaks.   
  
“Tonight, we have our Sergeant-at-Arms back from Belfast at long last!” The clubhouse erupts into cheers as JT claps Clay on the shoulder; looking at the two of them now, Jax never would have guessed at the shit brewing below the surface. “I propose a toast- to Clay, master negotiator, liaison to the Irish Kings, and the reason SAMCRO’s moving towards the future.” JT holds up his glass of whiskey, followed by the rest of the clubhouse, then tilts his glass to pour a little out. Clay nods as everyone else pours, then takes a pull from the bottle of Jack, his expression never changing. Sons and hangarounds alike drink to him and cheer, and he’s suddenly grinning as Bobby, Chibs and the rest jostle him but his eyes never leave JT as he places his empty glass on the bar top and slips out the door.   
  
Jax and Tara follow shortly after, fighting their way through the crowd and outside into the much cooler air to find Opie and Piney at the picnic table, smoking. His friend nods and grins at the two of them, stubbing his cigarette out before rising to clap Jax on the shoulder and squeeze Tara’s.   
  
“I see you escaped the festivities,” Opie offers. Jax shakes his head.   
  
“Yeah, it was getting a little crazy in there. I think Tig’s getting antsy, that’s my cue to leave.”   
  
“You said it.” Jax shifts his attention to Piney.   
  
“You’re not gonna head in?” Piney shakes his head.   
  
“Nah. Got everything I need out here.” He waves his hand, indicates the pack of Reds and an unopened bottle of tequila on the table across from him. “Besides, far as I’m concerned, shit was a lot more pleasant around here without his big ass barking orders.” Opie glances nervously Jax’s way before halfheartedly protesting.

“Pop…”   
  
“Naw, we were all gettin’ a little sick of him arguin’ with JT’s every move. He may be the co-owner of this garage, but JT’s Prez. Hell, Clay ain’t even VP.” Piney lights another cigarette and takes a couple drags before he continues. “Anyway, shit was pretty calm around here the last several weeks. And now? We’ll see if it stays that way.” Piney hoists himself off the bench and grabs his bottle. “Think I’ll head out to the cabin, myself. I’ll be back tomorrow for Church. Boy, you make sure my house ain’t a wreck by the time I get back.” Opie nods.   
  
“Got it, Pop.” As Piney ambles towards the row of members’ bikes, Opie turns his attention to Jax and Tara. “I’m outta here too, actually.” Jax stares at him.   
  
“Jesus, Ope, you just got here.” Opie shrugs, his expression unreadable.   
  
“Yup. And now I’m takin’ off. I got somethin’ to do.”   


“You’ve been a fucking ghost for days, bro. We’ve barely seen you and now the moment we find you, you’re taking off again? What-“

“Oh, like you two haven’t taken off alone,” Opie scoffs. “And forgive me if I don’t feel like playin’ the third wheel all the time while you whisper in each others ear-” He smirks at them while Tara blushes and Jax can feel himself getting defensive.   
  
“Ope… we didn’t plan this, and we haven’t been trying to ditch you or make you feel awkward or anything. I thought-“ Opie’s rolling his eyes already.   
  
“Shut the fuck up and let me finish. You know I got no problem with you two finally getting together. I’m happy for ya. And yeah, you do make things a little awkward sometimes when it’s all three of us, but I can handle it. That ain’t what I was about to say though. I’m takin’ off, but I want you guys to come with me.” He opens his hoodie to reveal his own bottle of Jack. “Yanked this off the bar earlier- you interested?” Tara leans forward to give him a side hug, her other hand still in Jax’s own.   
  
“I’m in. Jackson?” Jax grins.   
  
“I’m in, too.” Opie nods, a smile on his face.   
  
“Alright then, let’s get outta here- we can go to my place since Pop’s headed up to the cabin. I got a stop to make first, though.” They follow him to the other end of the lot, mount the bikes, and tear out of the lot behind him.   
  
As they roll over the darkened streets of Charming, Jax can’t help but let his mind wander back to what he’d heard that evening. Apparently, even though his father and Clay were determined to keep whatever beef they had going on between the two of them, at least Gemma was in the know. And Piney had made it sound like other members had noticed the tension, too. Piney himself had seemed aware things had gone on between his President and SAA, but at least he’d taken JT’s side, from what Jax can tell.

But how much does Opie know? Piney’s a stoic bastard, for the most part, though he can chew ass with the best of them; Jax can’t really see him opening up to his son about club turmoil, but it’s possible. Either way, some day, Jax will be at the head of the Reaper table, Opie at his left; it just doesn’t feel right to keep him in the dark about this, especially if his old man’s let on that there’s something going on. Jax tightens his grip, decision made, and follows Opie to an unfamiliar neighborhood.

They slow as they turn down a quiet street lined with oaks; the neighborhood’s nice, shutter-trimmed houses with well-manicured lawns and newer model family vehicles in most of the driveways. It reminds Jax of his own neighborhood, though his driveway is often filled with bikes. Finally, Opie slows to a stop in front of a fairly large gray house that’s already dark, the porch lights turned off. Jax is about to suggest that maybe this isn’t the right house- nobody appears to be home or awake- when Ope dismounts his bike and heads up the street without a word. Speechless, Jax sits back on the Dyna while a door opens several houses up and a tiny brunette scurries down the front walk and into Ope’s arms. He leans down to kiss her, then points Jax and Tara’s direction. She waves as they head up the sidewalk, hand in hand, and Jax recognizes her as the girl from the diner the other day. When they reach the bikes, Jax and Tara dismount, eyeing Opie curiously.   
  
“Her parents don’t like motorcycles.” He offers by way of explanation. “I park down here so they don’t hear it, I’m trying not to tweak ‘em before I even meet ‘em.” He’s smiling down at the girl, who looks even smaller next to him; for her part, she’s looking up at him like he’s the only person in the world. When the hell had _this_ happened? Who is this girl? From the looks of her, she’s different from his usual tall, leggy, rebel types; she’s wearing a UCLA hoodie and pristine jeans, her hair chin-length and blunt-cut, her cheeks ruddy with excitement and highlighting her twinkling gray eyes. Opie must have noticed his expression, because he smirks and puts an arm around the girl, drawing her into his side.   
  
“Jax… Tara… I want you to meet Donna.”

 


	20. Ch 20

The bottle of Jack sits in the middle of the Winston kitchen table, next to Opie’s dime bag and Jax’s rolling papers. It’s about half gone and Jax is pretty sure he’s more than half drunk; he and Tara have knocked out nearly all of what’s missing since Opie has to take Donna home and Donna’s flat-out terrified her parents will smell the whiskey on her. She’d taken a couple shots, however- enough to loosen her up, to everyone’s relief. Despite her initial friendly wave, she’d seemed stand-offish when they’d arrived at the Winston house. Opie had avoided this altogether by loading the dishes into the dishwasher to appease Piney’s grumpy ass and Jax had offered to take out the trash only to hear Ope following behind him with an armful of cans and bottles.   
  
_“So Donna, huh?” Ope shot him a look that was somewhere between sly and embarrassed before dropping his burden onto the small patio table and beginning to sort._  
  
“Yup.”

 _“She’s the one from the diner that day, right?” Jax dropped the trash bag into the bin with a thump._  
  
“Yup.” Christ. When it came to Jax and Tara, Opie was capable of becoming some goddamn relationship counselor; apparently, though, when it had to do with him and Donna, he was determined to stick to one-word answers. 

_“C’mon, man, you gotta give me more than that. I mean, when you hooked up with Melody Murphy you could barely wait to tell me the horny details.”_ CLUNK. _A bottle hit the bottom of the bin with a little extra force and Opie spun around to face him.  
  
“If you think I’m gonna hook up with Donna and then run my mouth to _ you _about it, you’ve got another think coming. I don’t ask you_ shit _about Tara, even though y’all are about the_ furthest _thing from shy…” A sour look on his face, Opie- seemingly having given up on whatever he was going to say- turned back to the pile of recyclables.  
  
“Jesus Christ, bro, that’s not what I meant. Melody was a shitty example, I guess. All I meant was that you couldn’t stop tellin’ me about_ her _, most of your other girlfriends, even- but you ain’t said one word about Donna all week. Even now, you’re boxing me out.” Opie finished with the cans and turned back to Jax, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed.  
  
“You didn’t even notice, did you?” Guiltily, Jax flushed. “I mean, I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t around as much, but I doubt you knew _ why _. And like I said before,_ I get it _. This shit with Tara… it’s intense, II can see that much, and it’s fine- it might even be going that way for me and Donna. I don’t need or want anyone in my shit with her, though, you know?” No, Jax_ didn’t _know. Weren’t they all at Ope’s house, at his request? Hadn’t he introduced them all?  
  
“So why are we here, then, Ope? I mean-“ Opie shook his head.  
  
“Naw, that ain’t what I meant either. _ Christ _.” Opie pulled off his beanie to rake his hands through his hair. “I don’t need anyone from the club sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong, especially since I ain’t sure how she’ll react. But I want us to be able to hang together. Especially the girls- Donna’s new and she don’t really know anybody, Tara’s on the shit list of basically every girl at CHS because of you…_ and wipe that goddamn smirk off your face, bro _, she needs a friend besides us-_ especially _when we start prospecting.” Jax’s smirk set itself even deeper; he couldn’t help it- his girl had laid claim to him in front of all those Pussy Patrol bitches and it had been one hell of an ego boost. Not that he_ needed _it, to be sure, but it was nice just the same._

 _"Aaanyway…” Opie continued, “that day I saw her in the diner, I was mostly just givin’ you an out. Givin’_ myself _an out, really- you and Tara together can get sort of nauseating, especially after a big meal.” He lit a cigarette and eyed Jax as his own smirk crinkled his eyes. Jax shook his head apologetically but remained silent as Opie handed him the last cigarette out of the pack and tossed the empty into the trash. Jax lit up as Opie sat in one of the heavy wrought iron patio chairs and rubbed his chin; Ope had a decent beard for a sixteen-year-old and it was one of a few things Jax envied about his friend- that, a dad who stayed in the goddamn United States where he belonged, a mom who stayed out of his shit for the most part… and sheer proximity to Tara on any given night she wasn’t staying at the Teller house. Man, if only he could crawl out his own window, shimmy down a tree, cut through a couple yards, and crawl right into hers…_ Shit. _Opie had started talking again.  
  
“-just started shooting the shit. I mean, I was surprised she wanted to talk to me at all, really. She’s new here, most new kids stay the fuck away from us because of all the club gear, you know? And then the townies only want to hook up with us- well, _ you _-  for the rush or some shit. But the way she looked at me in the diner, its like she saw past the beard and the reaper hoodie.” Jax smiled at his friend.  
  
“That’s awesome, bro, really. So what the hell you two been doing all week?”  
  
“Not much. I have a couple classes with her- I cut 4 th period Thursday and today to hang with her at her lunch. We went back to the diner yesterday, too.” Jax snorted.   
  
“Romantic.” Opie shot him an exasperated look.  
  
“It ain’t my fault there ain’t shit to do in Charming. I know you and Knowles have been occupying _each other _just fine, but I don’t think she’ll be taking her panties off for me any time soon.” Christ. Jax punched him in the shoulder but had to laugh- he and Tara did spend most of their time lost in each other, in more ways than one. He took another drag of his cigarette.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. But that ain’t gonna hold water for long, man. As much as I hate to say it, we’re gonna have to start taking them out somewhere.” Opie looked at him, eyebrows raised.  
  
“Them?”  
  
“Yup. Tara and Donna. You make a chick your girlfriend and suddenly they expect more than the opportunity to talk to you in the hallway at school or give you a quick blowjob in the back of the clubh- goddammit, I was _ joking _, Ope.” Opie’s face had suddenly turned as murderous as Piney’s had the other day in the hospital. “Seriously, though. We want to keep ‘em happy, we’re gonna have to put in some effort. Might as well be together.” Opie rolled his eyes.  
  
“I know _ that _. Just wasn’t sure_ you _did-“ The door opened, cutting off the rest of Opie’s sentence and revealing Tara’s face, which was slightly panicked._  
  
“What the hell are you guys doing? Get back in here!” she hissed. “We ran out of shit to talk about like 5 minutes ago.” Jax and Opie exchanged a look.   
  
“Want to reconsider those double dates?” Jax asked him, shaking his head. 

_“What?” Tara whispered, loudly. “No. She’s fine._ We’re _fine. But I have no idea what the hell you’ve told her about SAMCRO, Opie, and I’m not going to be the one to kill this thing before it starts.”_  
  
“Glad to see you have such faith in me, Knowles. I figured out how to maintain a relationship long before you showed up.” Opie’s eyes were twinkling, a teasing grin on his face, but Jax could see Tara formulating a retort and clapped his friend on the shoulder. 

_“C’mon, let’s go in and smoke up. We can figure out what to tell Donna about the club later.”_

Half an hour later, they’d all learned that Donna moved here from Ohio with her parents over the summer because her dad had gotten a new job as one of Oswald, Senior’s site managers. Her mom’s overbearing- though Jax doubts she can be any worse than Gemma- and both her parents are pretty strict. Opie’s gonna have to get used to _that_ shit, Jax thinks; Piney can be a dick and Ope has to do plenty of shit around the house, but both he and Jax are allowed pretty  much the run of Charming the rest of the time.  
  
Jax is enjoying watching Tara animatedly describe some answer some nerd had given in one of her AP classes- it appears that Donna’s at least approaching Tara’s level as far as academics go-but he’s enjoying watching Opie stare at her even more. That’s not to say Ope hadn’t been smitten by some chick before, but that had been middle school; since they’d started high school, they’d both grown comfortable with being pursued by girls, having the power in the relationship. Jax sure as shit doesn’t hold all the cards when it comes to Tara, and its looking like Ope’s in equally as much trouble when it comes to Donna. He’s currently fixated on her face- _no, her eyes_ , Jax thinks- and hasn’t said a word in about ten minutes, just watched her talk and laugh. As Opie’s hand slinks under the corner of the table between the two of them, Jax can see him twine his fingers around hers and stifles a laugh. Instantly, Opie gives him a dirty look, which makes it even harder to rein in the laughter.   
  
“Problem, Jackson?” Tara’s giving him her own side-eye, though she’s also wearing a playful smirk in contrast to Opie, who looks sour as hell.   
  
“Nothing. I was just thinking, we’ve been sitting here a good half hour or so and we still haven’t touched Opie’s stash. And since he’s giving Donna a lift home in about… an hour or so, we better start now.” He winks at Donna, who barely looks at him before she shifts her gaze back to Opie. Damn, that hadn’t happened in a long time; he was used to girls showing him at least _some_ interest. Looks like Ope picked the right girl.    
  
Opie expertly rolls a joint and they pass it around the table, everyone exhaling away from Donna- though Jax knows it’s a lost cause the moment she hesitantly takes a hit herself. Donna reveals she’s never smoked before, but that a girl in her old school- a Catholic girls’ school, at which everyone snickers- had gotten busted for selling to some of the underclassmen.   
  
“Jesus. How the hell did you survive in a school of all girls?” The look on Jax and Opie’s faces must have given Tara a clue as to how well _they’d_ have handled it and she sticks her tongue out at Jax before continuing. “I mean, I hate ninety-nine percent of the bitches at CHS, and that might be lowballing it. Good thing you showed up, you just helped raise the curve.” Donna shrugs.   
  
“It was alright. No distractions, I guess. _Definitely_ no cute biker boys, though.” She grins at Opie, who leans in and kisses her cheek, before turning her attention back to Tara. “But you’re right about the girls here. They _are_ awful, aren’t they?”   
  
“You don’t even know the half of it. They all hate me because I’m dating Jackson; not that I was ever really friends with them in the first place. I was riding bikes with these two idiots since I learned how to ride without training wheels-“  
  
“Noooope.” Opie interrupts, reaching across the edge of the table to put his fingers on her lips. “I distinctly remember Jax here telling you you couldn’t come along with us until you ditched the _baby bike_. I _also_ remember you throwing pebbles at us when we left without you.” He dodges the assorted wrappers and a pen Tara chucks at him as Jax cracks up.   
  
“Jackson was right. Why do you have to remember every damn thing, Opie? But I was right anyway, I rode with you _since I could ride without training wheels_.” Tara smirks triumphantly.   
  
“Yeah, and you got right on learning that shit the next day. So don’t say I never encouraged you to reach your utmost potential, babe.” Jax snatches Tara’s hand and raises it to his lips; she blushes- _God_ he loves making her pale skin go all rosy like that. _Shit_. He can feel his dick responding already, despite the slight haze the Jack and weed have him in; he’s never been this quick a trigger, especially not at a mere flush of the cheeks. Jax’s eyes drop to her mouth just as her tongue darts out to lick her lips, which is almost too much for him at this point. He fixes his eyes on hers, the green of them captivating him once again; he’s not sure if it’s the weed he’s smoked, but he doesn’t think he’s noticed their subtle gold flecks before. He’s also not sure if her pupils are dilated because of what _she’s_ smoked or because of this little eye-fucking session they have going on, but he means to find out.  
  
“So how long have you two been dating?” Donna asks, bringing Jax out of the reverie he’d been in for God knows how long.  
  
“Uh…” Tara seems to have to snap herself out of it, too. _Good._ “A couple weeks?” Opie snorts.   
  
“ _Officially_. But apparently, they’ve been in love since we were kids. It woulda been nice if someone had told me, I’d have been a lot less confused the day she came back.” Tara can’t hide her smile, and Jax doesn’t bother to try.  
  
“Oh, well _that_ makes sense, then,” Donna replies, “because I was thinking it had been at least a couple years. I’m normally pretty good at guessing that sort of thing.” Jax raises an eyebrow at her.   
  
“Let me guess… you were the _unofficial relationship advisor_ for all your friends.” Donna nods, slowly. “Then you and Ope are perfect for each other. End of story.” Jax and Tara crack up while Opie rolls his eyes. Donna just looks plain confused, leading Jax to laugh even harder.   
  
“Aaaaalright.” Opie’s standing up from his chair. “I’m gonna need to take Donna home in a bit, it’s almost her curfew. But first, I need some fresh air or some shit.” He flashes Donna a smile Jax has never seen before. Holy shit, the guy’s got it bad already. “We’re gonna take a walk. You two… stay the hell out of my room. And don’t kill all the Jack before I get back, all Piney’s got in the house is tequila.” He gives an exaggerated shudder before taking Donna’s hand as she rises from the chair.   
  
“It was great to meet you, Tara. Jax. I hope we can do this again.” She smiles sincerely at them as Opie tugs on his hoodie.   
  
“It looks like we will, darlin’” Jax grins back; Opie’s clearly going to make _that_ happen. Then, Tara lightly backhands him in the chest. What now?  
  
“Don’t call her darlin’. Opie’s liable to kick your ass if you turn that Teller charm on her, and you know it.” Sure enough, Opie had noticed his little slip and was currently glaring at him from behind Donna. _Great._  
  
“Jesus Christ. It’s a habit. Both of you stop worryin’.” He shakes his head as Tara smacks him again. Donna however, has an evil grin curling her lips.   
  
“He’s right. Don’t worry about _me_ , I don’t go for the pretty momma’s boy types anyway. Give me tall and rough around the edges any day.” Jax and Tara watch in amusement as little 5 foot nothing Donna pulls their hulking best friend down for a kiss that looks nothing like what you’d expect from a former Catholic schoolgirl. And from the looks of it, Ope wasn’t expecting it either- it takes him a moment before he responds, wrapping his arms around her but giving Jax the finger with the hand that’s not on the small of her back. _Yeah, I hear you, bro. Loud and clear._ The kiss ends, but Opie’s goofy-ass smile remains as Donna shrugs into her hoodie.   
  
“Did we just witness the first kiss?” Tara breaks the silence, a hint of of amusement in her voice.   
  
“Naw.” Opie responds, grabbing Donna’s hand again. “But I can tell you one thing, it sure as hell won’t be the _last,_ either.” He pulls her out the door, her goodbye echoing into the night as it rattles shut behind them.   
  
“Wooooowww…” Tara backhands him a third time. “Jesus, babe, you hit me again and I’m gonna start to get a complex.”  
  
“Oh, stop. Opie’s happy and she seems nice. From what I hear of his other girlfriends, this is a move in the right direction.” Jax raises his hands in surrender.   
  
“No argument there. Though she did pretty much go from shy Catholic girl to Old-Lady-in-training in about two hours.” Tara places a hand on his chest, right about where she’d just smacked him moments earlier.   
  
“Oh yeah? And what kind of _Old Lady_ do you think Donna will make? Would you say she’s more of a Gemma or a Precious? Or maybe a Luanne?” Shaking his head, Jax tries to reconcile the pint-sized Donna with any of the women Tara’s just mentioned. Definitely not Gemma- Donna needs more of a mouth on her to come anywhere near the Queen of Charming. Luanne’s his mom’s best friend and the gossip queen of SAMCRO, and it looks like Donna definitely has the potential to be a little nosy. But the porn thing just doesn’t fit. Precious, Bobby’s old lady, is anything but precious. In fact, she scares the hell out of anyone with a dick, and has ever since she’d marched into the clubhouse over the summer and grabbed Bobby by the crotch; she’d twisted until he admitted to letting some croweater give him a blow job on a run, and kicked him before storming back out.   
  
No, Donna’s nothing like any of the Old Ladies he knows. Except when she _was_ … staking her claim, throwing sarcasm right back in his face. In fact, she reminds him of-  
  
“You, babe.” She looks at him blankly.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“You asked me what kind of Old Lady Donna would make. I think she’d be a lot like _you_.” Her eyes narrow and her chin juts out the way it does when she’s considering something.  
  
“I’m not an Old Lady, Jackson. You know that, right?” _Technicalities_ … Jax takes both her hands and scrapes his chair across the kitchen floor until it’s facing hers.   
  
“It’s true, I’m not patched in. I’m not even a prospect yet. Hell, even if I _was_ , I’d still have to convince you to get the tat.” At this, her eyebrows shoot up, and it’s clear she hadn’t considered any of this- especially the crow. She swallows, hard, and when she breaks the silence her voice is a little strained, her hands squeeze his more tightly than before.   
  
“I… I never thought about getting a tattoo… or about the _club_ , really. I know it’s your legacy, Jackson, and I love almost every one of those guys. What they meant to me as a kid, what they’ve done for me since I got back…” Her voice trails off and it’s a moment before she continues. “it’s just that I love _you_ more. I want this to be about _us_ , not about you, me, and the club. Does that make sense?” Her eyes are wide, searching his, and greener than ever; he can feel the haze of the weed and the Jack, and knows digging deeper into the subject isn’t a good idea. Not tonight.  
  
“I’m not asking you to get the crow, Tara. At least not right now. You’re right- this is about you and me. The club shit can wait; it’s at least a year before I prospect, maybe more. For now, though… I just want you to know that even though it’s not official as far as the patch and the crow are concerned, you’re my _girl_. Everyone knows it, and the club will take care of you if you need it just like they will Donna if she sticks around, or my mom, or anybody else. More importantly, though, _I’ll_ always be here for you, crow or no crow. Though, I admit I’ve thought about it some.” At this, Tara’s mouth quirks a little.   
  
“Thought about what?” All of a sudden, he can’t help himself, he _has_ to touch her- after Clay had caused him the world’s worst case of blue balls and after sitting here at the table with her for the past couple hours, he’d been able to focus on little more than all the parts of her he’d been longing to get his hands on since they’d rolled out of bed this morning. He drops her hand to skim the backs of his knuckles over the gentle slope of her breast that’s peeking out from her shirt.   
  
“How my crow would look on your skin. Maybe here…” he lets his hand trail down her side and to her thigh. Turning it over, he brushes his fingers up a long leg, and back down; she shivers, and he swears the vibrations are somehow circuited directly to his dick. “…or here. Maybe even _here_ , where nobody can see it but me.” Jax pulls her onto his lap and runs his hand to the small of her back, ghosting his fingers over the smooth skin there.

His suspicions about her eyes earlier are confirmed almost immediately when he watches them dilate as she leans in to kiss him; he can almost bet his are doing the same. Tara’s like a drug, and he’s goddamn sure she’s the only drug he’s addicted to; he’s also sure she’s the most dangerous. Kissing her like this is a high he can’t even explain- his senses are heightened, the mere flutter of her lashes against his skin or the feather light brush of her lips against his own seem to shoot fire and ice into his veins. His heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest, his hands want to be everywhere at once. At the same time, his entire body feels heavy, drugged with pleasure- like tunnel vision is setting in and the only thing he can think of is how much he loves her _and_ what she’s doing to him at this moment. Kozik had been an addict before coming to SAMCRO and Jax had once overheard him telling someone how you never mix uppers and downers, that it’s hard on the heart. Not for the first time, Jax wonders how long his heart- the physical, not the metaphorical- can handle the sheer onslaught of feelings Tara incites in him.

As he presses his hips up and she grinds hers down on his, he hears Opie’s bike start outside. _Shit._ It’s only a fifteen-minute ride to Donna’s, if that, and then fifteen back. Without a plan, without knowing where he’s going, he stands with some difficulty, lifting Tara along with him. Her legs automatically wrap around his waist and he continues kissing her as he half-blindly navigates his way out of the Winston kitchen and into the next room. His lust-addled brain tells him there’s a couch in here, somewhere, but he doesn’t want to risk Ope coming back home and seeing something he shouldn’t. Ope’s room is out- he’d never hear the end of it- and God knows Piney’s room is out. Suddenly, Jax is struck by an idea and he sets Tara down abruptly.   
  
“What is it?” she asks, confused.   
  
“C’mon.” He gathers up an afghan and a faded throw from the couch and tosses them to her. Grabbing a couple throw pillows and her hand, he tugs her down the back hallway toward the narrow door at its end. An even narrower flight of unfinished wooden stairs stretches in front of them and Jax climbs them first; as his head rises above floor level, he’s relieved to see that the large expanse of wooden floorboards is still largely empty, save a box labeled “Christmas” and several more labeled “Mary”. The attic room had been the scene of many of he and Opie’s childhood games, and also the spot they’d utilized to steal away and drink Piney’s beer and blaze up- before Piney stopped giving a shit that his son smoked.  
  
“Ope and I used to come up here and-“   
  
“I remember…” Tara murmurs, smiling faintly. “We’d pretend we were Sons and this was our Clubhouse. Then you got older and started making me the Old Lady.” Jax wraps his arms around her waist, kisses her gently before smiling against her lips.   
  
“Well, see, babe? I was smart even then. I even managed to hold Ope off when he complained how unfair it was that _he_ didn’t have an Old Lady to play the game with.” She chuckles softly, raising a hand to his cheek.   
  
“See, that’s just it. I’m your girl, Jackson. Not Opie’s, not the club’s, just _yours_.”  
  
“I know that, Tara. I really do.”  
  
“ _Just don’t forget_ …” she whispers, and then the time for talking is over as he slams his mouth into hers and kisses her hungrily. The blankets he’d meant to spread on the floor drop to the ground, forgotten, as he threads both hands into her hair. Her mouth tastes like whiskey and smoke, but he can taste her unique flavor mingling with his own, too. By now, they’ve grown accustomed to undressing each other and her nimble fingers unzip his hoodie and smooth under his t-shirt as his spread on the small of her back where he’d mentally placed his crow. He runs them up her back, pushing her shirt up to her shoulders.

Reluctantly, they break apart to take care of necessities- to yank shirts off and discard them to fall where they may- before Jax reaches for Tara to crush her against him once again, this time to kiss the curve of her neck, her bare shoulder; he kisses each before slipping her bra strap down an upper arm and searching for the clasp in the back. When he comes up empty and is stymied for a moment, he can feel her laugh silently before reaching to the front and unclasping it herself so it can fall away.   
  
“Unfair, babe” he whispers before cupping her in two hands, smoothing a thumb over each nipple. She shudders against his hands and wraps her arms around his neck to press herself against him, kissing him so hard he thinks his lips might bruise. Over and over again she drags her breasts against his lower chest, her softness against his hardness- save her nipples, which graze him with every pass. He draws her hips into his and sets them in a circular motion until he can’t bear it anymore and reluctantly breaks away.

Wordlessly, Jax spreads the afghan on the floor, dust motes floating in the moonlight of the dormer window; Tara floats the blanket over it and then pauses, unsure. Without taking his eyes from hers, Jax slowly unbuttons his fly; he lowers the zipper, which seems miles long at this point. In turn, Tara unbuttons and unzips and they both lower their bottoms- he his jeans, she her shorts- until they’re puddled at each of their feet. Her gaze unwavering, Tara hooks a thumb in each side of her panties and slides them down her creamy thighs until they slip silently over her lower legs and disappear onto the floor. _Christ_. Jax swallows thickly as a memory of the last croweater that had tried to shimmy out of her panties in his presence slips in, unbidden. He’d told her he wasn’t into all that, and it hadn’t been a lie, then. But Tara… _Tara_ he’s _more_ than into- in fact, he can’t think of anything he wants more than to pull her down to the blanket with him and thrust himself into the sweetest place on planet Earth… _Shit, Teller. Slow the fuck down.  
_  
What Jax wants almost as much is to taste her silky sweetness again. _Christ_ , he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. In fact, he’s pretty sure he could go months, maybe years, without finding out what she feels like wrapped around his dick as long as he’s able to placate himself with touching that warm, wet haven with his fingers, his tongue. This decided, he steps onto the blanket, hand outstretched; she takes his hand and meets him in the middle, their tongues tangling instantly. He dips a hand below her waist to strum a finger against her, then two; the jolt that wracks her body at his touch nearly tearing her lips away from his. Then he does move his lips away, as well as his hand, and Tara whimpers and subconsciously strains towards him with her body.   
  
“Just a minute. I want to see if I’m right.” When she looks at him quizzically, he smiles and raises his fingers to his lips, sucking one, then both into his mouth. She flushes instantly, and he’s so taken with watching it spread from her heaving chest to her neck, then her face, that he forgets what it was he was saying until she speaks, so breathily that he doesn’t catch it the first time. “Hmm?”  
  
“I said, you want to see if you’re right about what?” she asks, softly. _Right._   
  
“About how you taste. I was thinking peaches and honey, but now I’m not so sure. Guess I need to go directly to the source.” Jax doesn’t stick around to watch her blush deepen like he knows it will, just drops to his knees before her, her patch of curls now eye-level. He’d felt it before, but now he can see for himself just how turned on she is- he can see the moisture glistening in the spot he’d just touched. As he raises his hand to stroke her, he’s struck with just how night-and-day this is from what had been routine to him just weeks before; he’d been used to having girls on their knees before him, practically begging to tend to the needs of the Prince of Charming. Now, _he’s_ the one on his knees, so focused, so intent on tasting her again that he’s borderline obsessed. To hell with borderline, actually; he’s fucking _obsessed_ with how she tastes, the sounds she makes when he’s doing exactly what she needs, the look of her face when she comes, the way she tells him she loves him… _All of it_. If she’s a drug, he’s fucking hooked for life.

Like a junkie that needs a fix, he quickly submits himself to the moment and delves into her, his tongue replacing his hand, his hands caressing the backs of her thighs, which began trembling the moment his lips touched her. Over and over, he uses the flat of his tongue to stroke the most sensitive part of her, the way she’d shown him the other day- in ever-widening circles. She’s no innocent anymore, he admits, but she came to him as innocent as a person can be and he reassures himself that this means that the small cries escaping her throat are even more real. More evidence of how she feels about him. The tip of his tongue centers on _her_ center, and he can feel her legs almost give way.   
  
“ _Jackson_ … I can’t- I can’t stay standing anymore-“ He steadies her with his hands on her waist as she sinks to her knees with him. He reaches for the throw pillow he’d dropped and lays her back, tucking the pillow beneath her head and presses a quick kiss to her cheek before kissing his way back down her body. He peppers kisses on her collarbone, breasts, belly and thighs before rubbing the newly-sprouted growth on his chin against the juncture of her thighs. Tara twists his hair in her fingers, keeping him close, so he parts her with his fingers and delves even deeper than he had before. He alternates between licking and probing, between rough and feather-light touches until she’s quivering beneath him and murmuring his name over and over. The quivering quickly morphs into shaking as he raises up slightly to suck her completely into his mouth and suddenly the murmurs are full-fledged cries as she throws her head back and shouts his name into the dark rafters. Greedily, he swipes his tongue through her folds over and over again until he’s sure he has every last drop of her to himself, then he’s passing a hand over his chin and crawling up her body only to be stopped dead at what he’s sure is the sexiest sight he’s ever seen- Tara, sated and lithe, her mouth slackened into a small O, her eyes half-lidded and darkened with pleasure.

 _Jesus._ If only he could snap a photo of her face, just like this. She pulls him down for a kiss and it amazes him all over again that she’s kissing him after his mouth has been on her. He’d certainly never wanted anything to do with any of the croweaters after they’d had him in their mouth; then again, it’s _Tara_ he’s talking about, and he can’t blame her for wanting a taste. A wicked grin crosses his face, effectively ending their kiss.   
  
“What,” Tara mumbles groggily.   
  
“Oh nothing. Just wondering if you were gonna weigh in?” She doesn’t answer, just cocks an eyebrow at him, which makes his grin widen substantially. “You know, _peaches_ or _honey_?” For the fourth time that day, she smacks him in the chest as both of them dissolve into laughter. He rolls off her and is still chuckling a bit when, all of a sudden, she’s tugging at his boxers. _Holy shit.  
_  
Jax sits up halfway, though he raises his hips slightly to allow Tara to pull his boxers down around his ankles, and closes his eyes as she takes him in hand. Her soft hand wrapped tightly around him combined with the kisses she’s scattering across his chest are almost too much, too soon. _Christ,_ he’s not going to last. He groans and jerks his head to the side as white heat seems to flash through his body and behind his eyelids. Suddenly, Tara’s hand stills and he can feel her shift over his legs. Panicked for a reason he can’t put his finger on, his eyes fly open; Tara’s hovering over his cock, the intent clear on her face. _Shit._

Jax has to restrain himself, keep his hand from flying out to still her. As gently as he can manage, he strokes her cheek, then places a finger and a thumb under her chin to raise her eyes to his.   
  
“Tara. You don’t have to do this.” Her brow wrinkles in confusion.  
  
“I know. I want to.” He’s already shaking his head.   
  
“I mean it, babe. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. I don’t want you to feel like you have to-“

“I _don’t_. Feel like I have to, I mean. I want to give you what you just gave me…” she trails off as he shakes his head even more vigorously than before.   
  
“Babe…” Jax can’t continue, doesn’t know how to tell her he just… _can’t_. And it’s fucking ridiculous because he’d spent the better part of a year regularly getting head from nearly anyone who offered, but when it comes to his girl wanting to do the same, he’s frozen. _What. The. Fuck._

And just like he didn’t want, was hoping beyond hope wouldn’t happen the moment the panic had set in, Tara’s backing away, her eyes glassy. Christ, the last thing he wants to do is hurt her- which is why he definitely can’t even begin to tell her the shit that’s going through his mind right now. Before words can come to him, before he can think of something- _anything_ \- else to say, she’s standing up. “Tara-“   
  
“I should probably go check on my dad’s house. Since we’re in the neighborhood any- anyway.” Her voice quavers, which doesn’t go unnoticed. Quickly, he pulls up his boxers, but she’s already stepping back, snatching her panties up off the ground and donning them along with her jean shorts before he can blink. He’s still threading his legs through his jeans when she finds her shirt and pulls it over her head, forgoing the bra she’d worn that day. Backing towards the stairs, Tara finds her voice again, though without some of the control she’d had a moment ago- “I’ll probably just sleep over there Jackson. You stay here, hang with Opie- it’s been a while. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her voice breaks, belying the emotion that had been notably absent in the words she’d just spoken.   
  
“Tara, don’t take off. I’m _sorry_ , I-“   
  
“I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” Tara furtively swipes at her eyes before hurrying down the stairs, leaving Jax to trip over his tangled jeans in her wake. _Fuck._   
  
He can hear her downstairs, then, as he’s finding his shirts and doggedly following after her- Ope must be back. He bounds down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Opie there alone, his arms crossed.   
  
“What the _fuck_ did you do?” Jax wants to be defensive, wants someone to argue with, someone to take this out on, but he’s wearing nothing but jeans, unbuttoned, his shirts dangling from his hand. He knows how this looks.  
  
“Nothing, man. That’s the problem.” He runs his hands through his hair and huffs out a long sigh. “I gotta go after her, bro.” Jax tries to head for the door, but Opie’s a solid, massive wall blocking his way.

“Naw. You’re _not_. You’re gonna tell me what happened. I asked _her_ ; she gave me some shit about wanting to check her dad’s place and took off, but I know that’s bullshit. Her face looked even worse than yours does right now.” Giving up on getting to Tara for now, Jax sinks down into the chair they’d left in the middle of the kitchen.

“I dunno, man. I _froze._ We were up in the attic, things got hot and heavy, I, uh… I went…” He’s fucking _blushing_ for Christ’s sake. Desperate to get Opie to understand, he raises his eyes to his friend’s; thankfully Opie colors too, and looks away.   
  
“ _Christ._ And that set her off?” Jax shakes his head.   
  
“No. After, she wanted to do the same for me. I mean-“  
  
“I know what you mean!” Opie snaps.   
  
“Alright fine. Well, once it was clear that’s where things were headed, I just fucking panicked- it’s like I froze. I couldn’t _move_ , man. All I could think about were all those other girls, and the thought of it just made me nauseous I guess. I didn’t want her to see me that way.”  
  
“What way? What the hell you talkin’ about?” Opie looks just as confused as Jax feels.   
  
“The way all those other girls see me, I guess. A dick, in more ways than one. Someone who wants to use them to get off.” Opie’s protesting before the words are even out of Jax’s mouth.   
  
“You _know_ she doesn’t see you that way. She definitely wants you for more than your dick-“  
  
“I wasn’t saying _that_ , Ope-“  
  
“-and she knows you’re not using her. Christ, I’ve been around you two the past couple weeks and even _I_ fucking know that. You gotta know _she_ does.”   
  
“Yeah, maybe. But I couldn’t tell her that, Ope. I couldn’t sit there and bring up all those other girls, all the fucking croweaters, how the thought of them crossed my mind and fucked everything up… she doesn’t need to hear that shit.”  
  
“But saying nothing’s worse.” Ope says, simply.   
  
“ _How_? What could be worse?” Jax drops his head into his hands.   
  
“It’s worse because now, she probably thinks you don’t want her. And I know from experience that _nothing_ twists a girl up more than feeling unwanted.” _Shit._ Jax feels like the bottom’s just dropped out of his gut. He’d never meant to make her feel that way; but she _has_ to know just how much he wants her, right? He’d been showing her on a daily basis ever since he’d kissed her for the first time.

“I gotta talk to her, Ope.” Opie stays put, but bends and puts a hand on Jax’s shoulder.   
  
“I know man. But give her a minute first- sit here and chill.” Seemingly deciding Jax is no longer a flight risk, Opie drops into a chair and snags the bottle of Jack. “What’s new with you?” He wiggles his eyebrows as he takes a pull of the whiskey and Jax has to laugh.   
  
“Shit, man, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Opie passes him the bottle.   
  
“Try me.” _Jesus. Here we go._ It takes Jax two pulls of the whiskey before he finds the words to tell Opie about the confrontation between his father and JT, and a one more before he manages to put words to Gemma’s contribution to the same. Opie, for his part, listens silently, his face revealing nothing; when Jax is finished, he gently pries the bottle from Jax’s hand and drains the remaining few ounces, setting the empty bottle on the table.   
  
“So Clay and JT have some beef, over something JT thinks could bring a mayhem vote down on both their heads?” Opie doesn’t sound convinced, doesn’t sound skeptical- as is typical for a Winston.  
  
“That’s what it sounds like. And Gemma knows something, too. What I haven’t told you yet is that they got shit between them, too, I heard them talking the other day, at home. They’re barely holding it together, Ope; whatever this is, it’s big.” Opie sighs, running his hand over his beard.   
  
“And whatever this is, they’re not gonna tell us _shit._ And even if they did, it’s not like we could actually _do_ anything about it, either-“ Opie halts, as if struck by a thought. “You think my old man’s involved?”   
  
“Piney? I dunno, man. I don’t think so- none of ‘em ever mentioned his name. I think whatever this is, is between Clay and JT, and Gemma knows some or all of it. It’s almost to the point of them comin’ to blows, Ope. JT _hit_ Clay tonight, some shit he said about my mom. Or was _about_ to say.” Opie’s face darkens.   
  
“Yeah, well, Pop’s not too crazy about Clay anyway. You know he and JT have always been close, and then that shit he said tonight about Clay comin’ back and sort of ruining the vibe around the garage? Shit, he didn’t even stick around for the goddamn party.”  
  
“Yeah, neither did my old man, and he’s the goddamn President. When the Pres and the VP skip out on your welcome home party, somethin’ ain’t right.”  
  
“Yup. Well, we both know Pop would never vote Mayhem for JT.”   
  
“I know. But what if this shit’s serious enough they could strip his patch? Or what if the whole thing blows up? Dad really fucking wanted to kill him tonight, Ope. I could _tell_. You’re _definitely_ out if you kill a goddamn officer without reason…” This is something Jax hadn’t allowed himself to consider, but now that he has, he can feel the panic rising like bile in the back of his throat.   
  
“Well, maybe he has a reason.” Opie replied, simply. “JT’s smart. He’s not reckless, he’s not going to do anything without the club backing him. I’ll see what I can get out of Piney, though that’s a fucking lost cause, most likely. Until something else happens, we’ll just keep our ears open and watch out for our own. Our family.” Jax responds with a single nod.   
  
“Thanks, man.” Opie eyes him quizzically.   
  
“For what?”  
  
“Being here. Listening. I know you tried, after Tommy. I just… Tara helps me sort my personal shit out, somehow. I just didn’t know how to put words to it before she came back, you know?” Opie nods at him. “But _this_ shit… this involves _all_ of us. Tara and I, we haven’t had time to work it through yet, but we will. And I want you involved, too; that’s the only way we figure this out. I need my girl and I need my brother- especially if we’re gonna be running SAMCRO some day.” Opie cracks a grin and claps Jax on the shoulder.   
  
“Enough of this sappy shit. Go tell your girl what a dumbshit you are before she comes to her senses. But make sure you show up here tomorrow morning, I’ll make eggs or some shit- Tara’s old man probably ain’t got jackshit in the house to eat.”   
  
“Got it, brother.” Jax rises from his seat and pulls on his t-shirt before pausing at the door. “Oh, and Donna? I like her. Keep that one around, will ya?” Ope’s smile widens.   
  
“Plan on it.”   
  
Tara’s window is dark, as is the rest of the house. Jax considers attempting to climb through her window before it occurs to him that her old man’s still in the hospital and he can just walk right in the kitchen door, provided she’s left it unlocked. He’s struck by momentary panic when the door won’t open at first, but then he realizes it’s just sticking on the jamb; he makes a mental note to take a look at it next time he’s here- God knows Rick won’t bother. He softly closes it behind him, turning the lock before picking his way through the darkened kitchen and down the hallway to her room. Pausing a moment outside her door, he listens- nothing. Jax pushes her door open a crack and peers through to see her curled up on her bed on top of the sheets, facing away from him, still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from earlier.   
  
He enters and latches the door behind him, toeing off his shoes before padding across the room to lean over her. Christ, she’d cried herself to sleep- he can see the telltale dried tear tracks streaking her face. A powerful wave of guilt washes over him and he can’t help brushing a strand of hair from her face. Jax sheds his jeans and shirt for the second time that night, leaving them in a heap on her side of the bed before looming over her again. Apparently, Tara hadn’t bothered to button her jeans either, because they were mostly open, the zipper about a third of the way up. Gingerly, he hooks his fingers in her waistband and tugs on her jeans; thank God, they slip right over her slim hips and he’s able to pull them off with only a groggy “mmmm” from Tara.   
  
Jax decides he likes her wearing his shirts better and makes another mental note to give her a few to keep at her house. Spotting the comforter crumpled half beneath the foot of the bed- where he’s sure she’d ditched it the night of her father’s accident- he spreads it over Tara, causing her to shift a bit and murmur in her sleep. Jax crawls underneath the covers and curls himself around her- hips matching her hips, chest against her back, knees tucked under her knees. Lacing his fingers in hers, he draws her hand to his lips before settling in to his favorite spot in the world- wrapped up in her. She sighs and draws his arm closer, shifts her hips against his, and he knows in that moment that what happened between them tonight was a speed bump, not a roadblock, that they’d settle it tomorrow. Right now, all he needs is some sleep- and her.   
  
“I love you, Tara” Jax whispers, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’s not sure, but he thinks he hears a reply as he falls over the soft edge of his dream.   
  
“I love you too, Jackson.” _  
_


	21. Ch 21

Tara awakes to Jackson’s arm draped heavily over her hip, a sensation she’s gotten used to over the past week she’s been staying at the Teller home; any minute now, Gemma would be sailing through the open door, telling them to get their asses in gear. Only… she blinks. Realizes she’s in her own bed, a place she hasn’t slept since the night of her father’s accident. She runs a hand past Jackson’s arm to find her leg bare. Had she taken off her jean shorts before collapsing onto her bed last night? She doesn’t think so; she’d been so upset, so frustrated, that she’d been doing well to make it to her room before finally releasing the emotion she’d been trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to hold in ever since Jackson had made it clear he wasn’t interested in moving to the next step.   
  
Embarrassment- no, humiliation- washes over Tara all over again as she recalls the events from the night before. Things had started so well… She’d felt as if she’d made a friend that had the potential to understand the highs and lows of dating a SAMCRO heir apparent; better yet, a friend whose ultimate goal wasn’t to bed Jackson Teller. Donna had- sweetly, but with just the right hint of an edge- made it clear she wasn’t interested in the Prince. Even better, it’s clear just how smitten Opie is with her and despite herself, Tara smiles; her friend deserves a girl like that. Then, Opie and Donna had taken off and she and Jackson had gotten hot and heavy within minutes; just how quickly she was willing to let herself go from sitting at a table talking with friends to naked underneath him still surprises her, when it comes right down to it.

It’s not that she’s a prude, she thinks; briefly, Tara wonders just how far things would have gone with Liam, and how fast. He’d undoubtedly made her feel… something. Intensity, longing, lust… all of those were words she’d use to describe the feelings coursing through her that night at the party, and if things hadn’t gone the way they had, she’d probably still be with him. Over the past couple weeks, too, Tara had learned just how much she enjoyed… well, not sex, per se, but allowing Jackson to explore her body. The thing about Jackson, though, is that there’s more than just lust between them; everything she feels when she’s with him, when his hands and lips are running over her body, is more intense than she really knows what to do with. In the end, she decides, she’s not sure how far she’d have let things go with Liam, because their brief relationship now feels like child’s play compared to the things she’s experienced so far with Jackson, but she’d probably have allowed the relationship to take its course, sexually.

And _that_ , Tara decides, is why last night had hurt so badly. The intensity, the pull between them… she knows he feels it, too. She also knows that Jackson’s been far from a selfish lover- the opposite, actually. He’d given her her very first orgasm with nothing more than his fingers, pleasured her with his mouth not once, but twice; so why wouldn’t he let her do the same for him? Tara’s face colors as she tortures herself with the scene again- reliving everything as if she’s back there.  
  
_She_ is _there- naked in the Winston attic, mere minutes past her boyfriend’s tongue on her, then in her mouth. Every part of her- every bit of skin, every bit of her heart- is out there and exposed for him to see; he loves it, loves_ her _\- she can tell by the look in his eyes. She can’t begin to describe how his mouth feels on her, how the peak she’s just reached is different than the first he’d brought her to with his fingers alone, but it is. It’s just…_ more _. As Jackson kisses her then rolls to his back at her side, she realizes she wants him to feel that way, too. She doesn’t want things between them to be all about her any more than she wants it to be about SAMCRO. The thought of putting her mouth on him is a little terrifying, but also something she didn’t know she wanted until this very moment.  
  
Tara laughs at his teasing- hell if she cares what her flavor is- but as it dies away, determination sets in. She’s not sure what to do but after his boxers are off and she can see he’s more than ready for her, she begins the way she knows she likes it- scattering kisses places she doesn’t usually, across his chest, abdomen, and belly. She’s not sure when he realizes where she’s headed with this- probably when she lets out a shaky breath inches away from her target- but when he does, it’s like a switch flips. He’s talking to her, trying to reassure her that she doesn’t have to do this and she thinks she’s telling him how much she wants this, wants _ him _, but she can tell it’s a lost cause. His face is blank but as always, his eyes tell her things his lips won’t. Unfortunately for Tara, the thoughts swirling in them are ones she can’t even comprehend._

 _Jackson sits there, fumbling for something to say, repeats his line about her not having to do this; she wants to ask him at what point she’d_ ever _given him the impression she’d do something she wasn’t ready for, wants to tell him he’s full of shit and that if he doesn’t want her to go ahead and tell her. She’s putting her panties back on before the thought occurs to her to suggest that if he doesn’t think she can suck his dick as well as some croweater, maybe he’s made a mistake dating a virgin. And oh, does she want to. She wants to scream it at him, actually, even as he struggles to get dressed himself, but more than anything, she just wants to get the fuck out of there. So she does, leaving him behind to find the rest of his clothing and hoping the tears will wait to spill until she’s safely outside.  
  
Opie’s in the kitchen and she mumbles some bullshit about checking her dad’s house in his general direction before continuing out the door. By this point in their friendship, she knows he’ll ask Jackson what had happened, and probably go all “angry Opie” on him, but can’t bring herself to care. Maybe he’ll hold Jackson off long enough for her to get herself together, because she knows any conversation they have right this moment isn’t going to be her at her no-bullshit, smartass best and she doesn’t trust teary, flustered Tara as far as she can throw her.  
  
Tara crosses the final, dewy yard before reaching her own driveway and pauses briefly in front of the house she hasn’t set foot in for nearly a week. She’s not sure she even wants to go inside, wishes she could run back to Opie’s and let everything just tumble out; he’d listen, she knows, and he’d give her the male perspective on the situation she desperately needs right now. Briefly, she contemplates doing just that, even as she slips inside and closes the door behind her, heading towards her room. She _ can’t _. Jackson’s there, and though she knows Opie would likely tell him to back off, to wait in the other room or something until she had a chance to calm down, she just can’t face him right now._

 _And why not? Because she’s fucking humiliated; what sixteen-year-old boy doesn’t want a blow job from his girlfriend? Right. One that’s probably had a hundred, from various girls and women that are more his type, more experienced…_ better _at this. And just like that, Tara realizes how much she hates them- all of them. The older women that had taken advantage of a fucking fifteen-year-old. The girls at CHS that wanted Jackson for the thrill, the notoriety. Even the ones more like her, the ones that had allowed themselves to think that they stood a chance of getting him to stay, to care. She hates them all, in this moment; hates that they’d managed to come between them even now, even after Jackson had reassured her, told her how different she was from them. With a growl that shocks her momentarily with its ferocity, she whirls to face her dresser, using a forearm to swipe the line of dusty, porcelain dolls onto the floor.  It takes her a second pass to clear the remaining two, and when they land on the pile of the others- pale faces seeming to stare at her in shock, unblinking,_ mocking _\- she brings the heel of her Chuck down onto one of them, crushing it to smithereens._  
  


_Chest heaving, Tara turns back towards the dresser to look for another target, but catches her own eye instead; her face is red, eyes brimming with tears, a few escaping down her cheeks. And just like that, she can’t think about it anymore. Can’t analyze Jackson’s mindset tonight for one more second, can’t wonder if and when he’ll knock at her door, kiss her gently, and take away the hurt, the frustration. For now, all she wants is the nothingness that is her bed. She practically stumbles the few feet to the foot of the bed and collapses on it, finally allowing the tears to come. The last thing she’s conscious of before sleep takes her is that she’s not sure she locked the door behind her._   
  
Tara’s chest feels tight again, and she knows she’s dangerously close to tears. _Shit_. With the distance of several hours between her and the night before, things are a bit clearer; Jackson obviously loves her; that, she’s certain of. In fact, she vaguely remembers him telling her so minutes after she’d fallen asleep last night- probably right after he’d pulled off her jean shorts and draped the covers over them because she sure as shit hadn’t done either. He’s also spent a good two weeks showing her how much he wants her, so she’s sure he hadn’t had a last second change of heart the moment her mouth had gotten close to him. But the fact remained that whatever this was, he’d chosen to cover it up, to sit in silence, rather than tell her what was wrong. He’d let her feel unwanted, embarrassed, rather than open up to her. He’d let _her_ open herself up to _him_ so he could lay bare almost all the ways in which she desired him, but wouldn’t allow her to witness himself doing the same. Maybe, in the end, as much as he loved her, he didn’t _trust_ her.

Unable to allow herself to continue to consider that possibility while Jackson’s wrapped around her, Tara gently disentangles herself from his arms, making herself as stiff as possible and sliding out of bed. He shifts slightly and seems to reach for her, but doesn’t awaken. The sunlight filtering in through her bedroom curtains is stretched across his face, causing his messy blond hair to nearly glow in its tangles, highlighting the lashes resting on a tanned cheekbone. God, the sight of him makes her want to forget everything and crawl back into bed with him, re-emerge some time when they’re twenty-five and have everything else figured out. Sighing, she tiptoes across the floorboards- wincing when one creaks- and into the hallway, still clad only in panties and her t-shirt.   
  
First stop is the bathroom, where she laments her red, puffy eyes- evidently, it had taken longer than she’d thought to cry herself to sleep. A bit of cold water removes the tear tracks, but doesn’t help much else. After drying her face on a slightly musty towel- _shit_ , better do a load of laundry before Dad comes home this afternoon- Tara turns down the hallway into the kitchen. Opie had done a good job of cleaning things up, she thinks, overwhelmed with gratitude all over again; besides the table and chairs pushed against the wall, she’d never have guessed the place had practically been a bloodbath.

Piney had also been nice enough to bring a change of clothes to the Teller home, and Gemma had taken the duffel bag and refilled it while Tara was at school on Tuesday. Between the Tellers and the Winstons, she’d managed to avoid being in her father’s home altogether… until last night. Sighing, she opens the cabinet under the sink and reaches blindly inside until she feels her fingers close around the box of garbage bags. Plucking one out along with a dustpan and brush, she reluctantly returns to her room to clean up the pile of shattered dolls that still graces the floor between her dresser and closet.

Jackson’s sitting up against the pillow when Tara re-enters her bedroom. She’s struck with the realization that this is the first night they’ve spent in her bed together, and it sure as hell hadn’t been what she’d have expected. His eyes lock on hers and she halts, suddenly unsure what to do with herself, let alone the dustpan and bag she’s holding.   
  
“Tara, I’m sorry,” he says immediately, sitting up a bit. Tara shifts her eyes away from his, towards the mess she’d made the night before. _God._   
  
“It’s fine, Jackson. I just need to clean this up.” Crossing the room, she crouches in front of the dolls and sighs.   
  
“No, that’s bullshit, babe, it’s not fine. _We’re_ not fine. And I know it’s because of me.” Tara shakes her head and focuses on the task at hand, gingerly picking up the larger pieces and soft, cloth sections and dropping them into the trash bag. She doesn’t hear Jackson approaching until he’s there, a hand on her shoulder. _When the hell had he developed stealth mode?_ Gently, he grips her shoulder and turns her to face him, still on her heels. “Tara, look at me,” he says sincerely, blue eyes boring into hers. “I’m _sorry._ Can you just let me explain?” She can’t manage much more than a nod, but he seems to deflate a bit in relief. Wordlessly, he pulls the dustpan and bag from her grasp and sets them gently on the floor next to the dolls; he takes her hands and leads her back to her bed- sitting next to her, a leg tucked under himself.   
  
“I love you, you know that?” Tara swallows and nods, willing the damn tears that had reappeared to somehow recede. “I told you before, I love being with you, _all of you_ , just as much. I love the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you taste…” Somehow, though, she doesn’t think his words are having the effect on her he’s planned, because she feels herself growing angry all over again. In fact, she revels in it. Anything to push back the tears.  
  
“Yes, Jackson, I believe you do. But I let you do things to me _nobody_ has ever done before, see parts of me I’ve never let _anyone_ see… I opened myself up to you, in more ways then one. All I wanted was to make you feel the _same_ way.” He lowers his eyes, and it pisses her off even more; she grabs his chin, lifts it until he’s forced to look at her once again. “Look at me, Jackson! You couldn’t do it last night, so at least do me the courtesy of making eye contact now.” His jaw sets and she can tell she’s getting to him, maybe even making him angry, but she doesn’t care. “Why won’t you let me…” She can’t bring herself to say the words, doesn’t have to; from the way his eyes are flashing, he _knows_.   
  
“Goddammit, Tara, I don’t _know_ what happened. Ever since that first day in Ope’s truck, I’ve been thinking about it- what your mouth would feel like on me. And that’s not the half of it.” His eyes narrow, fiercely, and from the way they’re frantically searching her face, yet pausing briefly on her mouth time and again, she knows he’s thinking about it right now. Her own eyes steal to his boxers and she can see the telltale ridge of him, its undeniable evidence. Re-focusing on his face, she can tell her glance hadn’t gone unnoticed, but his eyes are anything but apologetic, now.   
  
“So… what, then? You don’t think I can make you feel good, is that it? Or maybe you just don’t trust me enough to-“   
  
“Stop it, Tara!” His face has hardened now, his jaw tense.   
  
“ _THEN TELL ME!”_ Suddenly, she’s on her feet again, arms flung wide- waiting. And waiting. Just as she’s beginning to feel a bit unhinged, standing in her bedroom and yelling, he starts to speak.   
  
“I didn’t know what to say last night because I promised you I wouldn’t bring them up again,” Jackson says, his voice measured. Tara knows, instantly, who he’s referring to.   
  
“The other girls.” It’s not a question.   
  
“The _croweaters_ ,” Jackson amends. “Call them what they are.” She doesn’t answer, doesn’t look away. “Like I said, when it was clear where we were headed, I just fucking froze. It was like I was back at the clubhouse like a hundred other times. And I’m not sayin’ that to hurt you, Tara. But some girl with her mouth on me, it’s all that helped after Tommy died. And I _used_ ‘em, every single one- I didn’t care at the time, and I probably still don’t most of the time, if I’m being honest. All of those girls… they had their reasons for being there just like I did. We wanted the same thing, in the end, and that’s all it was. But I don’t _want_ that anymore; just like you don’t want the club to be part of us, Tara, I don’t want _them_ to be part of _me._ Not anymore.” He pauses, looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn’t know what the hell he wants her to say.  
  
“W- what are you saying, Jackson? When we’re together, you’re thinking of them?” Before the words are out of her mouth, he’s pulling her down next to him, shaking his head vigorously.   
  
“No. _Hell_ no. This is the only time. I think it’s because oral’s the only way I’d let a chick touch me after a while- Ope and a couple of the guys at the clubhouse gave me shit about it, actually. Said I was getting a complex or some shit.” She averts her eyes, not wanting the mental images that are now flooding her brain of Jackson and some nameless, faceless blonde on her knees in the back of the clubhouse. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him again. “I thought we were looking at each other, Tara, that shit goes both ways.” Begrudgingly, she looks at him, his face holding none of the anger it had before.   
  
“You couldn’t have told me this shit last night? You just kept saying I didn’t have to; then, you went silent on me. I thought-“  
  
“I _know_ what you thought, Tara. But, hell, _I_ didn’t even really know what I thought last night. I tried to tell myself it was about protecting you, about not wanting you to see me the way all those croweaters do. That’s even what I told Ope-“  
  
“You told _Opie_ about this?” Tara can’t stop the heat rising on her face. _Jesus._   
  
“Not in so many words, no, but he asked me what the fuck I did to upset you and I told him. But the more I think about it, the surer I am that this isn’t about you, Tara. Not at all. This is my own shit, and it had me all fucked up. You’re perfect. You’re everything I need, I just… I fucked up. That’s all I can really say. I got inside my own head, and I just froze.” Jackson lets out a long breath, his eyes still locked on hers.  After a beat, she realizes that he’s waiting for her response. Great.

“Ever since I started at CHS, I’ve heard about Jax Teller, the sex god. Jax Teller, with the panty dropping smile. Jax Teller, who charmed a girl right into the backseat of her mother’s car at a track meet, for God’s sake. Besides our history, our friendship, that was the one thing that scared me about all of this. Could I trust you? Could I trust _myself_ with you?” He opens his mouth to speak, but she steels herself and continues in a rush. “And all those rumors were true, even for me. Before midnight the night before we made things official, you had me in my panties at the cabin. I found out, because you’ve told me, that part of what everyone says isn’t true, but you just have this… confidence, this swagger that makes it easy for me to just lay back and let you show me what to do. I mean, part of it is that you love me, but part of it is because you’re Jackson fucking Teller, _sex god_ , and sometimes I don’t think I could say no to you if I wanted to. So last night, when you stopped me, all I could think was that you didn’t want me, or that you didn’t trust yourself to open up to me. It hurt, Jackson. You could trust all those croweaters, all those other girls, but not me? I just had to get away, because none of it made sense.”   
  
“You’re right, it doesn’t. It _didn’t_. But it’s not because I don’t trust you- I trust you with every part of me. I just…I’m sixteen, Tara. I fuck shit up; it’s what sixteen-year-old guys do. I’m just sorry I hurt you in the process of figuring out what my hang-up was. But that’s all it was, old shit coming back around to bite me in the ass.” Abruptly, Jackson rises and takes a few steps to her dresser. Fingering its smooth top, his gaze falls on the pile of porcelain and fabric that was formerly her childhood doll collection. Flushing once again, Tara bites her lip. “Evidently, I’m not the only one with the temper.”   
  
“I don’t even know what came over me. I was just so angry- mostly at _them_ -“ she doesn’t bother to clarify who them is referring to. “-and I just lost my shit.” He’s grinning back at her and she tries not to fall under his spell, but it’s so damn hard not to smile back now that she’s told him everything she’s feeling and thinking… the relief of that is almost as big an aphrodisiac as his crooked smile. Rising, she reaches a hand towards his, which he immediately takes, and pulls him back towards the bed. Her knees hit the foot of it as she claims his lips, their breaths mingle as she shows him with tongue and teeth all the frustration she’s felt since last night.   
  
His hands snake around her waist to her ass and pull her even more tightly to him, and she can feel just how much he wants her pressed against her midsection. She knows now she was crazy to think he didn’t want her, knows that they’re going to have to figure things out as they go just like everyone else even if they do have a relationship unlike any other she’s ever seen. But right now, there’s only one thing to figure out, and Tara will be damned if she’s not the one that’s going to do it.

The kiss grows reckless, blurs outside the bounds of mouths or lips- Jackson’s find her neck, then Tara’s find his cheekbone, his ear. Just as his hands un-anchor themselves from her ass and rove up her back, underneath her shirt, hers find the elastic waistband of his boxers and slip inside. The shudder that overtakes his body when her right finds the hot, hard. length of him has Tara smiling against his cheek. She strokes him a bit, causing him to strain towards her; she almost loses her balance and falls back onto the bed. Finding his mouth again, she manages to turn them until he’s now the one at the foot of the bed. He’s clutching her hair, kissing her almost frantically, when she drags her lips from his and to his ear; when he’d done this to her, he’d told her exactly what he was going to do, had asked permission. Maybe he needs the same.   
  
“Jackson, I want to taste you like you tasted me. Can I?’ she whispers in his ear. He pulls back a little, to look into her eyes, and she has her answer before he even speaks as he somehow grows even harder, swelling against her hand.   
  
“Yes. Please.” he amends, quickly.   
  
“I didn’t know you were such a gentleman, Teller” she teases, pulling her hand out of his boxers and playing them at his waist.   
  
“Only for you, babe,” he replies with that damn smirk of his, raising one of her hands to his lips, then replacing it on his bulge. “But I won’t be a gentleman for long with you touching me that way, I can tell you that much.” Tara gives him a smirk of her own and slides the boxers down his legs, freeing his erection.   
  
“We’ll see about that…” She guides him until he’s sitting at the foot of her bed, naked as the day he was born, and kisses him one more time before taking him in her hand again. “Lay back, Jackson.” He shakes his head, smiling, as she kisses her way down his chest, the tip of her tongue trailing on the washboard of his abs.   
  
“Nope. I can’t see if I’m laying back. I want to watch those beautiful eyes while you put your mouth on my-“ she steals his breath as she closes her lips over the tip of him, sucking gently. Unsure where to go from here, she decides to do with her mouth what he’d shown her how to do with her hands, stroking the length of him with her tongue and holding him taut with a fist. When his head lolls back and his eyes close, she shakes her head, humming an “mm-mm” in disapproval against him. His eyes fly open as she pulls away.   
  
“Nuh uh, Jackson. You wanted to watch, so _watch._ Look at me and tell me what you like. I told you, now you can tell me.” A smile graces his beautiful face once again and she can barely hear his whispered response.   
  
“Take all of me, Tara. Put me all the way in-“ and she’s diving down towards the base of him, bobbing her head up and down and taking a bit more each time. She quickly realizes it’s not going to be possible for him to reach all of him with her mouth, so she makes up for it by sliding her hand up to meet her mouth. Up and down she glides, his blue eyes burning into her green ones until she’s met with a groan and his flutter closed again. She stops, releasing him from her mouth to speak against the tip of him.   
  
“Look at me, Jackson. Tell me.” Immediately, he complies.   
  
“Let me feel your tongue again. _God_ … now all the way. That’s it. Don’t stop, Tara.” His words devolve into moans as she does her best to do it all at once; she swirls her tongue around the tip of him on the upstroke, meets her mouth with her hand on the downstroke. His fingers thread into her hair and it occurs to her that her other hand is just hanging there, useless. Tentatively, she cups the soft sac below him and when he shudders in response, runs her fingers over it, tugging gently. “Don’t stop doing that shi… Fuck, Tara. You feel so good. I’m gonna… Shit, Tara I’m gonna-“ He releases her hair as she takes in as much of him as possible and suddenly his hips are jerking and he’s spilling himself into her mouth. He sinks back onto the bed as she swirls her tongue around the tip one last time, then wipes her mouth as she crawls up the bed to lie next to him.   
  
His eyes are closed, a blissful smile on his face that makes Tara even hotter than before; she’d actually been more turned on by pleasuring him than she’d anticipated- she knows what she’d find if she were to slip her hand behind the lace of her panties. Jackson knows, too, she realizes as he rolls to his side to face her and presses his fingers to her center.   
  
“Jesus, Tara. You mean to tell me we could have done that last night?” She backhands him in the chest playfully, and he rolls his eyes at her, propped on one elbow. “I told you, you’re gonna give me another complex if you keep smacking me around that way.”   
  
“Speaking of complexes… how’s yours?” He smirks at her, running a finger up and down the front of her panties.  
  
“All better, babe. Now, what do you say _I_ make _you_ feel better?”   
  
“You’ll get no argument from me.”   
  
“ _Good_ ,” he says, as he works her panties down her hips. “Because now I know just how much I fucking hate arguing with you. But making up might be worth it…”

* * *

 

The ride to St. Thomas wipes out the last vestiges of the angst of the evening before, though Tara has to admit, most of the tension had melted away that morning. She and Jackson had resolved their differences _orally_ , she thinks to herself with a snicker, and after they’d cleaned up the mess in her room, Jackson had gone to Opie’s to shower and change into the set of clothes he kept there. Tara had showered and, at Jackson’s insistence, met the boys at Opie’s for breakfast. It had felt good to return to talking and laughing with her best friends, and by the time they reluctantly headed to the hospital it was nearly noon.

Tara hasn’t seen her father since Thursday; that day, like those before, had been a relatively short visit punctuated by her father’s gruff answers and general refusal to interact with her at all. It was better than the shouting that had taken place the first visit, but not by much. As she and Jackson approach the waiting area, they’re surprised to see JT and Piney occupying the plastic chairs.   
  
“Hey, darlin’” JT saya, standing to give her a hug. “Son.” He nods at Jackson. “You two didn’t make it home last night.” It was a question, not a statement, and Tara watches curiously as Jackson responds to his father. She knows the main reason they’d not gone back to the Teller home to sleep and it had a lot more to do with Gemma and JT hooking up than she and Jackson doing the same. If Jackson mentioned it, though, JT would know they’d been listening in on he and Clay’s conversation.  
  
“Nah. I crashed at Ope’s.” Piney clears his throat, already grumbling.   
  
“What, am I runnin' a damn hotel now, boy? I thought I told you, the two a’ you-“  
  
“Relax, Piney. Tara stayed at her old man’s house.” Piney’s eyes practically bugged out of his head and he rose out of the chair to his full height.   
  
“Alone? You let her sleep there _alone_?” Jesus, it was clear she’d need to reassure the old man before things came to blows.   
  
“It’s fine, Mr. Winston. I figured I’d go make sure everything got cleaned up okay. Besides, Opie and Jackson were nice enough to make me breakfast this morning anyway.” She gave him a smile and watched in amusement as he deflated a bit.   
  
“Well… the kid still shouldn’ta left you alone. But I’m glad my boy got ya somethin’ to eat. He said there wasn’t shit in the cabinets when he was there last weekend. That’s gonna be a problem, because they’re talkin’ about springing your old man today.”   
  
“Gem said the same thing” JT interjected. “If you’ll take Rick home in the cage, Jackson and I will stop and grab a couple things to stock the kitchen with.” Tara casts her eyes to the floor.   
  
“You guys don’t have to do that. I can go this week sometime.” JT grips her shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face.   
  
“Darlin’, that’s all well and good… _if_ you had a way to get to the store. And with your old man laid up, am I right in assuming things are gonna be tight, financially until his next paycheck?” Tara nods her head, her eyes filling with tears. _Dammit._ They had her there- she isn’t even sure how this hospital stay is going to be covered, let alone the rest of the bills since her dad hadn’t worked in a week. “Look at me, Tara. You’re family. We help family when they need it. And some day, _you’ll_ be helping _us._ Hell, I’m sure you already helped Jackson’s moody ass- he hasn’t told me to fuck off but once since you came back.”   
  
“Yeah, just not out loud…” They laugh, grateful for the distraction.

“We’ll take care of it, little girl. And if your old man ain’t at home, or even if he is, you can come on over to our place for dinner if you need to.” If she didn’t know Piney, she might have assumed his offer was begrudging or insincere; however, he said it in the same, gruff tone of voice in which he said everything else, and Tara knows he means it. Still, though, it’s becoming more clear than ever that she needs to find a damn job.   
  
“Thanks, Mr. Winston.”   
  
“Piney, darlin’. I already told ya.”

“Thanks, Piney.” That earned her a smile, though it was quickly replaced by a scowl.   
  
“I suppose I better check and see what time they’re bustin’ him loose. Nurse Ratchet must’ve taken a smoke break, because this one looks half competent.” He ambles over to the desk to inquire, and Jackson, Tara, and JT sit.

“So how was the-“  
  
“What’re you two-“   
  
Jackson and JT both speak at the same time, and stop short. 

“Go ahead, son.” JT smiles, absently.   
  
“I was asking how the party went last night,” Jackson finished. “Shit was getting crazy when we left.” JT eyes him, as if trying to decide how to answer.  
  
“That’s why I told you two to get goin’ when I did. And I wouldn’t know, I dipped out after we toasted Clay- I try not to hang out at those things too long anymore. Your ma and I had a come to Jesus meeting over the summer, if you’ll recall.” JT smiles ruefully. “Why do you ask?”   
  
“Well first, I don’t remember any _come to Jesus_ meeting, you were gone most of the summer-“  
  
“Yeah, that’s what it was about, she didn’t think I needed to spend evenings at the clubhouse when I was in and out of the country already.” Jackson continues as if his father had never spoken.  
  
“-and second, I dunno why I asked, really, except that Clay seemed like he was in a shitty mood. Came into the clubhouse all pissed off, and then when we left he had a pretty decent shiner. Thought you might’ve seen what happened is all. I sure as hell didn’t.” Holy. Shit. Just like that, Jackson had asked his dad about punching out Clay last night. Was he really going to answer? JT shifted in his seat and Tara could tell he was uncomfortable.   
  
“Jackson, I told you, there are just some things I can’t tell you or Gem, it’s club business. Someday, when you’re at the table, maybe-“  
  
“Dad. It was a party , not a meet with the Mayans or some shit. We were just curious, that’s all.” Tara’s mind whirls as JT contemplates what his son’s just said. Jackson at the table- she knew it was coming, knows it’s only a couple years away; she just doesn’t know how she feels about it if she’s being honest with herself. She’s not ready to have a bunch of men in leather demanding the majority of Jackson’s time. Not to mention the danger involved.   
  
JT sighs. “Clay’s been out of sorts ever since I sent him to Belfast. Tell you the truth, nobody likes going over there- it rains all the goddamn time, McGee’s a salty motherfucker on the best of days, and the Kings manage to ruin any down time you have with constant demands for meets in some goddamn flat. We sent him because he has some sort of way of getting what he wants when it comes to them, but he wasn’t happy about it.”  
  
“If nobody likes goin’ to Belfast, then why-“   
  
“Why was I there all the goddamn time?” JT finishes. Jackson noda and Tara squeezes his hand. “You know I can’t talk much about that- not here, and not with family. But we had business there, son. Still do, actually, but we talked about that a while back, how the charter over there is in a good place now. And the Kings… they aren’t my biggest fans at the moment. I can’t say why, but it was a better play for us to send Clay. Besides, Clay ain’t got a wife and kid here at home. I _do,_ and I learned my lesson a while back about leaving you guys alone too often. I love you, son, and I want to make sure you never have the feel the way you did this past year, ever again.” JT squeezes Jackson into a side hug across the arm of the waiting room chair and Jackson returns it. JT’s eyes fall on Tara and she sees the twinkle return to them as he grins at her. “Not that miss Knowles over there won’t have a hell of a lot to do with that.”   
  
“You got that right.” Jackson leans over and kisses her cheek as Piney approaches with news from the charge desk.   
  
“Doc’s in with him now, then he’ll come out and give us the rundown. They’re dischargin’ him some time this afternoon, though, so maybe Gemma should take his ass home instead.” Piney grunts, settling into his chair. JT looks thoughtful for a moment, then shakes his head.  
  
“No, I want to be there when he settles in at home. Make sure he remembers our conversation from the other day.” Piney nods.   
  
“Yeah, you’re right. Besides, business is light today; anything comes up, Clay can handle it.” JT turns his attention back to Jackson and Tara.   
  
“So I was asking earlier, are you two up to tonight? Tara’s old man will be at home, so keep that in mind.” _Shit._ Tara hadn’t been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed, without Jackson. She supposes most teenage girls didn’t get the luxury of sharing a bed with their boyfriends-especially with parent approval- but that doesn’t make the thought of it ending any less depressing. 

“Hadn’t really thought about it” she hears Jackson answer. “We might see what Opie and Donna are up to.” Piney eyes Jackson with interest.   
  
“Donna, huh? That the name of the girl he’s been all googly-eyed over lately?” When Jackson nods in the affirmative, Piney continues. “Thought somethin’ was goin’ on. Boy’s been hoggin’ the damn mirror in the morning- all of a sudden he’s worried about trimmin’ that damn beard of his when he’s looked like a damn Yeti since he was fifteen anyway.” By this point, Jackson’s laughing his ass off, until JT raises an eyebrow at him.   
  
“I don’t know what _you’re_ laughing at, Jackson; the moment Tara started riding to and from school with you boys, my cologne started disappearing and your ma started complaining about walkin’ through a damn cloud of it on the way to the bathroom every morning.” Tara can’t help it; she’s laughing so hard she can feel tears rolling down her cheeks.   
  
“Hey dad?” Jackson says, chuckling himself.   
  
“Yeah, son?”  
  
“Fuck off. Guess you better up your count to two.” JT huffs out another chuckle and ruffles Jackson’s hair.   
  
“I hate to interrupt, but are you the family of a Rick Knowles?” A doctor is standing at the edge of the waiting area holding a clipboard, and Tara stands up, wiping the moisture from her face.   
  
“I am,” she manages, her voice still a little shaky. The doctor nods brusquely.   
  
“I’ve just been to examine Mr. Knowles. The swelling in his brain has gone down significantly since Thursday when we spoke. I’m confident that if he is released today, he will continue to improve until a normal pressure is achieved. We’ll need him to follow up in a week with his primary care physician, and then report here for a final scan to ensure he’s where he needs to be in that regard. Now, will there be another adult in the home with him?  
  
“Just me,” Tara responds, softly. The doctor seems to accept this and moves on.   
  
“Fine, fine. He’ll need a lot of rest, and he’s not to return to work until at least Wednesday. I’m prescribing him some dexamethasone, and he should refrain from drinking indefinitely.” A snort emanates from Piney’s seat and the doctor raises an eyebrow. “I take it this will be an issue for Mr. Knowles? He didn’t mention anything just now.” Tara closes her eyes briefly.   
  
“My dad drinks alcohol. Like, a lot. I don’t know how, uh, _receptive_ he’ll be to that advice.” The doctor seems to study her for a moment before adding, kindly-  
  
“Ideally, we give the brain every opportunity it can to heal after an injury like this. Drinking alcohol, smoking… those things can basically put the healing process on hold; indefinitely, sometimes. But that’s your father’s choice, his responsibility. Though perhaps other adults in your life can make an attempt to talk to him, help explain things a bit?” The doctor’s eyes land on JT and Piney, who both nod firmly.   
  
“Consider it done, doc.” JT promises. We’re going to help Tara here get him home and settled, and my friend here-“ he indicates Piney “-is a neighbor. We’ll do what we can to prevent Ri- I mean, Mr. Knowles- from having to show back up here.” The doctor seems to accept this and returns his attention to Tara.   
  
“More specific instructions will be on his release paperwork. Are there any questions you have for me at this time?” Tara shakes her head, slowly. She’s fairly sure the biggest problem had already reared its head.   
  
“Alright, then. I won’t see you again before he’s released, which is usually at about… three on Saturdays. Just make sure he has a change of clothes to exit the hospital in and Mrs. Bindley up there at the charge desk will help with the rest. It was nice to meet you, but I hope we don’t have to meet again under these circumstances.” He gives her a small smile and turns on his heel to take care of another patient, another family. Tara’s struck in that moment by just how lucky he is to go to work each day and save lives. Yes, he has to deal with difficult patients- such as her own father- but the feeling of doing something that matters, of making a difference… it’s something she’s discovering she wants for herself. Her thoughts are interrupted by Jackson, who’s squeezing her hand.   
  
“You okay, babe?” She smiles at him and nods, some tiny piece of her puzzle having fallen into place.

Piney’s truck is in the drive when Tara and Jackson arrive at the Knowles house, JT behind them on his own bike. They’d stopped at Charming Market to pick up a few things for Rick and Tara to eat that week, a task Tara had been dreading since JT had stated his intention to pay for the groceries. However, somehow, both JT and Jackson had managed to make the trip feel like a regular, everyday shopping trip- laughing and bantering about which brand of peanut butter was best, asking Tara what kind of milk she preferred- and by the time they’d reached the cash register, it hadn’t mattered who paid. They unload both saddlebags and carry their burden up to the house to find Piney smoking near the kitchen door. 

“Figured it’d be less awkward if I waited out here,” he explains. “Rick wasn’t too keen on my stickin’ around in the first place, and I told him by the time I got done with this smoke you’d be here anyways. He’s in bed,” Piney answers the question in Tara’s eyes, “Said he figured if he couldn’t have him a drink, he’d knock out some other way.” Piney followed them inside, helped them make short work of putting the groceries away, raising an eyebrow at the cherry pie wrapped in foil.   
  
“Gemma.” JT supplied. “She had to man the office at the garage today, but she told me this morning that it’s Rick’s favorite.” A glance at Tara, who’s nodding along, confirmed this. “Something about that fundraiser the club used to do before the cancer run every year- she said Rick’s come by to buy one of her cherry pies every year on his way home from work. She baked a few last night and sent this one with me.” Tara can’t help it any more- she practically flings herself at JT, breathing in the leather of his kutte and the cologne and tobacco that reminded her so much of Jackson. Blinking back tears, she chokes out the words she’s needed to say to him- all of them- for a week now.   
  
“Thank you so much. For everything.” JT hugs her, kisses the top of her head, before holding her at arm’s length and chucking her under the chin.   
  
“You’re family.” He says, simply, and passes her off so she can squeeze the life out of Piney, who seems a lot more flustered than JT but practically crushes her himself. For his part, Jackson pulls her to his side, his arm firmly at her waist, and kisses her hair as the two men finish gathering the empty grocery bags.   
  
“Well…” JT says, clearly not looking forward to what’s next, “it’s time for us to have a little chat with your old man, and then we gotta get back to T-M. Gemma’s probably having a shitfit right now.” Tara nods, and she and Jackson move aside so the two men can pass down the back hall to the bedroom.   
  
Jackson takes the opportunity to pull her to his chest, one hand threading in her hair, the other drifting down to her waist.   
  
“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” She whispers. She’s not sure she wants to know.   
  
“Just reminding him of the same shit they said that first day in the hospital. He’s gonna treat you the way he should, or Piney’ll know. Then my dad and the rest of the club will know.” He shrugs. “Probably also warn him off driving drunk. Or liquor altogether, based on the shit the doctor said today.” Tara sighs; she’s glad it’s JT and Piney in there, and not her. They’re back out momentarily.   
  
“Talk go well?” Jackson asks his father as he re-enters the kitchen. JT shrugs.   
  
“’Bout as well as can be expected, I guess. Tara, you let Piney or I know if anything happens when you’re here alone. Anything at all. And Jackson will be with you the rest of the time, I’m guessing.” She can feel Jackson nod in response. “Well… that’s it then. The house will seem a little empty tonight, darlin’. But we’ll make sure you’re okay here alright?” All she can do is nod. “Alright. Jackson, you be home at a decent hour, let Tara here get some rest, you understand?”   
  
“Yep.” With that, Piney and JT take their leave, the kitchen door rattling shut behind them.

Hours and a few movies later Tara had successfully sent a reluctant Jackson home- she’d had to turn down several offers to stay on the couch, climb in her window, sleep on the floor in her room, or sleep in her bed. Tara sets the popcorn bowl in the sink; she’s dreading this first night back in her bed, especially without Jackson, but she needs to start somewhere. Having him on the couch would still deny her the best part of having him with her- sleeping wrapped safely in his arms- but would also provide her with a crutch of sorts. Might as well rip the damn Band-Aid off.   
  
Turning the kitchen lights off, she starts down the dark hallway, pausing at her father’s door; she can hear his steady breathing from the other side- which is more than she can say for the nights he comes home drunk. She moves on to her bedroom, undressing before practically tripping over the t-shirt Jackson had dropped on her floor sometime last night. Smiling, she slips it over her head and revels in his scent- tobacco and cologne and _Jackson_ \- before crawling in bed to pull the covers over her head. Here, too, she can smell him and she lets it waft over her, comforted by laying where he had just hours ago.

Some day soon, she knows her father’s going to start drinking again. Some day sooner than that, she’s going to have to wash her sheets, Jackson’s t-shirt, and will no longer be able to detect him there. But until then, she’ll content herself with a father that’s sober- at least for a little while- and the familiar scent of Jackson enveloping her as she drifts off to sleep.

 


	22. Chapter 22

The thing Tara misses most about San Diego, she decides, is the ocean. She never has been- never will be- a surfer type and doesn’t care for the water, sunbathing, or any of the other activities her friends had drug her off to the beach for. No, she’d spent most of her time under an umbrella with a book, enjoying the sights and sounds but most of all, the smell of the ocean. Her aunt’s condo had been small, but near enough the ocean to benefit from the breeze and the briny-fresh aroma that kept their windows open on even the warmest of days. In comparison, the air in Charming seems too still, almost dead- something she’d noticed on her way to school that first day. Even now, sitting on her front steps, she thinks she can feel the air somehow pressing in on her, just a bit.  
  
Before she can think too much about what that might signify, Tara hears the telltale sound of the Dyna as it turns down her street and breaks into a smile. Despite the fact that Opie lives two doors down from her and Donna lives in a newer neighborhood straight north, Jackson and Opie had been crossing paths every morning to pick them up for school. Suggestions that Jackson pick Donna up and then meet Opie and Tara at school had been met with blank stares from the boys, and Donna and Tara had figured it was just easier to let them have their way. Besides, the whispers about who Tara was hooking up with had all but stopped the moment Opie had started arriving at CHS with Donna on the back of his bike.  
  
What _hadn’t_ stopped were the snide comments about her alcoholic father, the constant wondering aloud about what Jax Teller could possibly see in a plain Jane like Tara Knowles, or the general cold shoulder from the female population of CHS; once again, Tara thanks the universe that Opie had found Donna. It had taken a little while for her to feel comfortable in the presence of Opie’s childhood best friends, but in the intervening weeks, Donna’s come to fit right in.

As Jackson slows to a stop at the end of her driveway, Tara stands and catches a glimpse of him around the edge of the Cutlass. Something about the way he swings his foot over the bike, the way he straightens his hoodie and sort of swaggers up her driveway does something to her insides.

“Morning, babe.” His voice is low, scratchy, like he hasn’t used it since they’d hung up the phone last night, and she’s immediately taken back to her father’s hospital stay and the heavenly week she’d spent nights in his bed. She loops her arms around his neck and claims his lips, feels the sky seem to lift and the thoughts she’d had about the air in Charming lift along with it. For his part, Jackson buries a hand in her hair and allows his tongue to tangle with hers until air becomes a necessity. Pulling back a bit, he lets a crooked smirk crinkle his eyes before resting his forehead on hers. “You can’t even return my greetings now, before you attack me?”

“Shut up, Teller, and kiss me before Opie and Donna get here.” With a hand to the back of his head, she pulls his mouth back to hers and picks up where they’d left off. She can see the pleased surprise in his eyes; usually, mornings were all business- maybe a quick peck before they headed off to school, perhaps a more lingering kiss in the school parking lot depending on whether or not there were any girls that seemed to be lurking around Jackson. As the kiss ends, she can’t bear to stray much further than his chest.

He’s right- she _doesn’t_ usually attack him in her driveway- but she’s been without him too long. Her father had been following the doctor’s orders as far as she knows, and hadn’t gone to Lodi or even the Hairy Dog with his drinking buddies.  She’s also not found an empty whiskey bottle in weeks. As glad as Tara is that he’d seen reason, he’d also stepped into some sort of “strict parent” role that was unfamiliar to them both. That meant that weeknights, he was home for dinner and expected it on the table no later than six. After dinner, he’d watch a bit of TV while Tara did her homework and then would lock the doors at 9 PM sharp. Hardly a word would pass between the two before they retreated to their respective rooms, but every now and then Tara swore she saw a wave of hurt wash across her father’s face.

While her relationship with her father is basically at a standstill even though most of their evenings are spent alone together in the house, she and Jackson are at a standstill as well; they haven’t had alone time in what seems like forever. The first few weekend nights had been spent on her couch, her father in his chair, Jackson by her side- arguably proving some point to her father about how he’d be keeping an eye on things. They hadn’t done much more than hold hands, and even that was awkward under her father’s watchful eye. He’d cleared his throat before going to bed and had spoken directly to Tara, not even sparing a glance at Jackson.  
  
“You make sure he’s gone by ten.” And that had been it. A few hasty kisses at his bike before he took off each night, a few in the morning before school, and they hadn’t even had that the previous weekend; SAMCRO had attended a rally in Fresno and it was the first Jackson had attended on his own bike. Tara had been invited to go, had _wanted_ to go more than anything, but she’d made the mistake of asking her father for permission. His response had been akin to shock that she thought he’d actually consider letting her go somewhere with a bunch of bikers, and while their relationship was stunted and silent if no longer openly hostile, she’d felt an obligation to let him parent her for once- much to Jackson’s dismay. He’d called her when he’d gotten home the night before (one other positive to a sober Rick is that he remembers to pay the bills) and they’d fallen asleep talking about the things Jackson had seen at the rally.

Somehow, with her face pressed against Jackson’s sturdy chest, she can faintly hear the sounds of Opie’s bike approaching in the distance; it has to be getting close to time for school. Tara, however, is unwilling to let go, even for the short amount of time it will take to jump on his bike; it seems that after a few weeks of restraint, Jackson’s feeling the same way. He dips his head and fuses his mouth to hers almost desperately, and pulls her even closer to him than she had been. She can feel every bit of how much he’s missed her pressing against her midsection and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to drag him off to somewhere private and spend the day lost in him.  
  
“Tara!” She’s startled out of their embrace by someone calling her name- it’s too much to hope that it’s Opie because though his bike’s gotten louder, it’s still approaching. Reluctantly, she turns toward her house to see her father- still in faded sweats- on the front steps retrieving the paper. His eyes are steely and instinctively, she drops her trailing hand from Jackson’s back, though one of his lingers possessively on her hip. “You plan on continuing this little demonstration for long?” When she doesn’t say anything, Rick continues. “I mean, it isn’t enough that the whole goddamn neighborhood has to hear that fucking bike on a daily basis, but they gotta know my daughter’s banging the local hoodlums, too?” _Jesus Christ._ Angry tears spring to her eyes as she considers pointing out that if the neighbors hadn’t noticed her kissing her boyfriend in her own driveway, they probably were watching the show now that he’s shouting at her from the steps.  
  
Jackson’s hand clenches into a fist, still on her hip, and she can tell he’s struggling just as she is.  
  
“It was just a kiss, Mr. Knowles…” He doesn’t seem to know what else to say, and neither does she- the driveway hardly seems like the place to pick nits and point out that she’s not having sex with _any_ of the hoodlums, but even if she was it would only be this one. Unfortunately, her father is at no loss for words.  
  
“Just a kiss, my ass. Everyone in this town knows what it means when a Son has some girl on the back of his bike-“ Jackson cuts him off.  
  
“I don’t know what you think it means for the rest of them, but I know what it means for _me_. I love her and there isn’t shit you can do to change that. I know you’re trying out this whole new _being a dad_ shit, but she doesn’t deserve the way you’re speaking to her right now.” Tara looks up at him, then- his eyes refusing to leave her father’s, his jaw clenched.  
  
“Yeah, so you say. Well, you make sure and report back to your _club_ -“ the word drops off Rick’s tongue in disgust “-that I’m headed back inside to get dressed for work instead of tossing your ass onto the curb, and her along with you. We’ll call that personal growth. And make sure _his_ old man-“ he indicates Opie, who Tara hadn’t noticed was sitting at the end of the driveway, Donna in tow “-is aware I ain’t indulged since I was released. But if you two delinquents keep appearing at my house when you’re not wanted to corrupt my daughter, a man just _might_ be led to drink.” The door slams behind him and Tara releases a huff of breath she’s not sure is a sigh. She feels Jackson’s hand leave her, and he’s already stalking back to his bike. _Great._  
  
“What the hell was that all about?” Opie calls from his own bike at the opposite edge of the driveway. Tara shakes her head at him as she mounts the bike and wraps her arms around Jackson before they drive away.  
  
She can feel the tension radiating off him all the way to school; it’s there in the way he holds himself rigid on the bike when he’s usually the definition of easy, and there in the way he immediately reaches for a cigarette instead of her hand after he dismounts in the CHS lot. Tara exchanges troubled glances with Donna and Opie, who shrug. They’d missed most of the exchange between Jackson and her father, but she’d been present for the whole damn thing and doesn’t have a clue as to why he’s being snippy with her when he’d just stuck up for her; he’d even told her father he loved her. Tara presses a kiss to his cheek.  
  
“I’ll see you inside, I have to get my English notes back from David…” her voice trails off as his jaw tightens again before he nods, focusing on something off in the distance.  
  
“Yeah.” _That’s it?_ She looks desperately at Donna, unsure what to do with this Jackson, so drastically changed from the one who’d kissed her senseless in her father’s driveway ten minutes ago. Donna jerks her head towards the school and its double doors.  
  
“Come on, I’ll walk in with you.” Donna lifts onto her tiptoes to exchange a short peck with Opie, who looks adorably reluctant to let her walk away with ten minutes to go until the first bell. Tara pats him on the arm.  
  
“I promise; you’ll get her back in just a few minutes.” He grins and shakes his head at her, before cutting his eyes at Jackson, who’s several feet away and already lighting another cigarette.  
  
“Same goes for you,” he says pointedly, but low, nodding towards his friend. _I’ll find out what’s going on_ , his eyes seem to promise her, and she sets off with Donna feeling a little better, but not much.  
  
They’re several parking spaces away before Donna hisses “What’s eating at Jax? Usually, the two of you are so lovey dovey it makes me sick- not that _we’re_ any better…” she amends quickly, as Tara shoots her a wry grin.  
  
“I’m not sure, actually. My dad came outside while we were sort of making out in the driveway waiting for you guys and said some shit about the neighborhood not needing to know I’m banging hoodlums.” Donna’s face remains impassive.  
  
“Well, what did you say back?” Tara’s face reddens.  
  
“I… _nothing_ really. I was so embarrassed, Donna, and I _know_ he said that shit just to get under my skin. _Jackson’s_ skin, actually- there’s a reason he said hoodlumsssss, _plural_. Piney and JT, they talked to him about being a better father and I know that pissed him off. He’s barely said a word to me these past few weeks except to give me orders and tell me how much time I can spend with Jackson.” Donna nods, sympathetically, and links her arm through Tara’s.  
  
“I’m sorry. That must be awful. I mean, my parents aren’t too fond of Ope’s bike, but it’s sort of an out of sight, out of mind thing. They don’t know much about the Sons, so they like him okay so far.” _Neither do you_ , Tara thinks, somewhat guiltily. But it’s up to Opie to introduce Donna to SAMCRO, which he seems to be doing gradually. _Very_ gradually.  
  
“Well, I think he’s trying to push Jackson, see if he can get him to blow up on him or be disrespectful, prove his point. It pisses me off and I _get_ that Jackson doesn’t like it either, but I don’t understand why he’s mad at me.”  
  
“Who’s mad?” They’re at the front steps, Donna’s arm still linked in Tara’s, when David Hale appears, holding out Tara’s English notebook. She takes it from him, barely acknowledging his “Thank you, by the way”, her mind still on Jackson. When she doesn’t answer, David raises an eyebrow at Donna.  
  
“Jax.” Donna says, brusquely, her distaste for David evident even in the one word. He’d approached her shortly after that day in the café to warn her about Jackson, Opie, and SAMCRO, and to hear her tell it, she’d not been appreciative of _that little pissant_ telling her who she should stay away from. To his credit, David had been polite to both of them since, as far as Tara knows, though openly disdainful of Jackson and Opie; she’d just been avoiding him because the last thing she needs is to hear one more person’s opinion on her relationship. Donna, for her part, barely concealed her annoyance when it came to David, which had the benefit of keeping him at a distance.  
  
“He looks pretty happy to _me_ ,” David observes snidely, causing Tara to glance up, sharply. Her eyes search the back of the parking lot until she spots Jackson, sitting side by side half on the seat of his bike with none other than Melissa Rourke, smoking yet another cigarette. Tara watches as he flicks the cigarette away and laughs at something Melissa says, pushing the hair out of his eyes as she lightly touches his arm. Her stomach tightens when Melissa’s hand lingers on his bicep and basically turns over when she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek as she rises off the bike. He turns his attention back to whatever’s in his lap- it looks like a notepad of some sort- the goddamn Teller smirk on his face. _Damn him_. Tara tears her eyes away from Jackson only to catch sight of Opie behind him sitting on his own bike, his eyes burning into hers apologetically across the lot. _Fuck this_. She wrenches away from Donna, pushes her way past David and on into the building.

She’s an angry crier, something she’s hated since she was a kid; she’d be pissed at some boy for mocking her and then her traitorous eyes would well up out of sheer anger while the other kid made fun of her for being a crybaby. The tears earlier this morning had been angry- a knee-jerk response to her father’s words, intent on hurting her; the tears she’s blinking back now as she surges down the main hallway of CHS are hot, angry tears as well. Where the hell does Jackson get off, shutting down on her inexplicably and then flirting with the de facto leader of the Pussy Patrol right in front of her? She’d missed the prior school year, during which Opie had said that sort of thing was the norm, and apart from Melissa’s invite to the beginning of year party, Jackson had largely rebuffed or seemed oblivious to most advances. So what the hell had changed? She pushes into the nearest girls’ room and stops dead in front of the mirror.

The same person Tara had been this morning stares back at her, albeit with red-rimmed eyes. Same customary band t-shirt, jean shorts- despite the rapidly cooling early November weather, most of her actual jeans are a little short in the leg so she’s avoiding them as long as possible- same plaid shirt tied at the waist. She’s still not ever going to look like a croweater, but Jackson had very obviously been okay with that this morning.  
  
The door flies open and Donna comes bursting in; Tara has to laugh at the expression on her face, which is a mixture of anger and panic. That much conflicting emotion emanating off her petite frame is nothing short of humorous.  
  
“God, Tara, are you OK?” Not for the first time today, Tara’s thankful Donna had moved to Charming; Opie could hardly come bursting into the girls’ room to check on her. The thought makes her break down into laughter again, though a few of the tears she’d been holding back shake loose and make their way down her cheeks. “Seriously, girl, you laughing or crying, here? I mean, I’d prefer the laughter, because I fucking suck at comforting people…” Tara shrugs.  
  
“Both, I guess. But don’t worry about having to comfort me, these aren’t sad tears, they’re pissed-off tears.” Donna shakes her head, crossing her arms and practically vibrating with pent-up rage.  
  
“I don’t blame you, Tara. What the _hell_ was that? _Who_ the hell was that? Why’d he just sit there and let her rub up on him like that?” Wiping the tears from her eyes, Tara shrugs, again.  
  
“Melissa Rourke. And… I don’t know. He’s never done this before.”  
  
“Damn right he hasn’t. Jack- _ass_.” The first bell rings; Donna’s still steaming, while Tara’s beginning to calm down a bit. She sighs and steers Donna towards the door.

“I just need a minute… Go ahead to class, save me a seat, OK? I just need to wash my face so I don’t look like I’ve been crying.” Donna bites her lip, then nods and backs out of the bathroom. Sighing, Tara turns back to the sink and splashes a little water on her face, carefully wiping the smudged mascara from under her eyes. She rakes her fingers through her hair, pinches her cheeks, and takes a step back, as satisfied as she’s going to be for the time being. She picks up her backpack right before she hears the heavy door creak open again.  
  
Melissa Rourke is standing just inside; she seems surprised at first to find Tara there, but slowly, a smug smile creeps across her face.  
  
“Hey,’ she says, a little too casually, as she leans into the mirror to reapply lipstick- bubblegum pink… _of course_ , thinks Tara.

“Uh, hey,” is the only thing Tara can think of to respond, though _why the fuck are you touching my boyfriend_ seems more apt.  
  
“It’s a shame about you and Jax, you know.”  
  
“What is?” _God_ , Tara hates sounding clueless. Except she really is; she hasn’t had a clue what the fuck was going on since right before they’d left her house this morning.  
  
“Oh, you know. The _whole loved each other since we were kids_ bit. It made the most adorable story, _much_ better than the Ugly Duckling/Swan Prince thing you have going on. It’s just too bad you two can’t keep things going.” Tara’s aware that she’s standing there, glaring at Melissa, her mouth slightly open, but she can’t think of anything to say; she knows this, of course, because she can see her own, dumbfounded face in the goddamn mirror. “Oh, I know you’re still technically _together_ -“ Melissa finishes her lipstick and gives her lips a pop as she turns towards Tara, the tone of her voice implying that even the school dunce is aware of the truth she’s laying out “-its just too bad a little mousy thing like you will never be able to hold his attention. I mean, rumor has it you’re not even willing to go down on him; every croweater and girl over the age of sixteen in Charming’s offering _that_. And let me fill you in on a little secret- he doesn’t land twice on the same girl unless she knows what she’s doing, if you know what I mean.” She looks Tara up and down with her nose wrinkled in disdain. “The two of you are on the outs already, and I’m guessing dear old dad isn’t going to help things along, either.”  
  
_Christ,_ had Jackson really told Melissa what had gone on that morning? Tara wants to protest, but bites her retort back when she realizes just how pathetic _but I’ve gone down on him_ is going to sound if she says it out loud. Fluffing her hair, Melissa continues. “The whole school’s talking about your little dates in your living room with the old man… but it’s cute you thought Jax would settle for some 1850’s-style courtship when he’s got SAMCRO parties he could be at.” She advances on Tara and pats her on the cheek. “ ’Salright though, _darlin,_ when he’s ready for someone to pick up the slack, he knows where to find me- probably on the back of his bike, actually; but you go ahead and keep that seat warm for me, and I’ll keep _him_ nice and warm in the meantime. I just hope you don’t go off the fucking deep end like your daddy did when _he_ lost the best thing that ever happened to _him_ … though I guess maybe _I’d_ start drinking myself to death if my wife went and offed herself, t-“  
  
Tara couldn’t stop the hand that flew out to connect with Melissa’s cheek any more than she could stop the angry tears from welling up yet again. Maybe Melissa’s stunned by the vicious strike that Tara had just landed, or maybe she’s just plain shocked that someone she’d just referred to as “mousy” had actually struck her; either way, when Tara begins to speak, Melissa does little more than listen, a shaking hand pressed to her face.  
  
“First of all, you don’t know Jackson. Not the way _I_ do. You sure as hell don’t know _me_. I don’t know what makes you think five minutes of sitting on his bike means you’re his next Old Lady, but rest assured, you’re not even going to catch his interest, let alone _hold_ it. Second of all, we may be having an argument right now, but you’re forgetting one important detail- he _loves_ me, and he let you all know it weeks ago. It’s time you started accepting it because, honestly, you’re all starting to look a little pathetic.” Tara narrows her eyes into a deadly calm glare that would make JT proud.  
  
“And finally, if you or anyone else ever mention my family- and that includes SAMCRO, my father and most definitely my _mother_ \- ever again… you’ll be missing teeth.” Without waiting for a response, Tara whirls around and pushes through the door, only letting out the breath she’s been holding once she’s in the hallway. Blindly, she practically stumbles into her first period class just as the tardy bell ring- oblivious to the teacher and the curious gazes of the other students- and sinks into the seat Donna’s saving for her in the front. _Holy. Shit._ She’d hit someone. Not only that, it had been one of the most popular girls in the school- the same girl she’d just witnessed rubbing up on Jackson in the parking lot.  
  
_Christ._ The last thing she’d meant to do is get into a catfight over Jackson; she’d seen Melissa’s comments for what they were, mostly- a cruel attempt to get under her skin and make her second-guess his feelings for her. She shakes off the niggling thought that she and Jackson are currently arguing, and part of what Melissa had said regarding the rumor mill had been true. Still, that hadn’t been the reason she’d hit her; no, that had been the insinuation that her mother- her beautiful, brave mother- had _killed_ herself. Tara’s not delusional enough to wonder if it’s true- she’d witnessed her slow deterioration from cancer firsthand- but the very thought that _that_ bitch was making a mockery of her mother’s death is enough to involuntarily clench Tara’s hand into a fist, make her wish she’d have given her a right hook instead of a slap.  
  
Vaguely, she becomes aware of a triangle of paper sliding under her left forearm-. Casting a furtive glance in that direction, she can see Donna watching her out of the corner of her eye. Directly behind her is Opie who is also watching her, his brows knit. On his left is Jackson, conspicuously absent from his usual seat directly behind Tara, which he usually uses to his advantage- leaning forward to whisper in Tara’s ear until his hot breath tickles her ear or brushing his fingers suggestively against hers when she passes him a sheaf of papers. Today, though, he’s concentrating on Castor’s lecture with a ferocity she’s never seen him apply to his school work, and looking appropriately sullen. _God_ , she wants nothing more than to grab him by the hand and lead him right out the door to somewhere remote, quiet, where they can get lost in each other and generally ignore everything that’s happened today.

She turns her attention to the note, written in Donna’s neat cursive.  
  
_“What happened? You look worse than you did when I left. Also, O said he will talk to J and one of them will explain J’s ‘tude at lunch, unless he gets his shit together before that. ~D ”_  
  
Yeah, if she’s not suspended by then…

Jax isn’t even sure why he’s _in_ first period English class; his usual reason- Tara- isn’t even in the room. Maybe it’s because it’s pretty much the only subject he doesn’t think is a complete waste of time. Even the book they’re reading now- _My Name is Asher Lev_ , which he’d expected to hate- is growing on him. The kid’s struggles with bucking tradition and making a new place for himself had spoken to him in some way he doesn’t yet understand. He can read _Asher_ , though, at home. Or somewhere remote and far away from people, like up at the cabin, or underneath that willow he and Tara had- _Christ._ He hasn’t talked to her for about thirty minutes and he’s already thinking about her incessantly.

Checking the wall clock, he figures Tara’s got about one minute before the tardy bell rings and since he _knows_ her- knows her hatred of being late, knows her dedication to school, grades, and all that other smart girl shit- he knows she’d never willingly be late for class. He also can’t believe she’s cutting- not after the number of times in the past two weeks alone he’s tried to persuade her to cut with him so they can have time to themselves. Even before this morning, which had been nothing more than the past couple weeks coming to a head, Jax had been struggling to adjust to the new dynamics of their relationship. They’d gone from spending nights wrapped in each other under the relatively nonexistent supervision of JT and Gemma to painfully awkward TV nights with Rick Knowles. Not to mention the fact that even Tara’s after-school, evening and weekend hours were spent catering to a father that hadn’t fucking earned it, in his humble opinion.

If Jax is being honest with himself, though, the general discontent he’s felt recently has just as much to do with his own need to be around Tara- touch her, kiss her, talk to her- as it does his concern that she’s allowing herself to slip under the control of the man that barely deserved to call himself a father. If he’s being brutally honest, he much preferred Rick Knowles the Drunk- absentee as he was, at least he didn’t interfere and Tara had never indicated he was abusive- to Rick Knowles the Painfully Sober. If Drunk Rick was unpredictable, clumsy, and dangerous only when provoked- like a bear in the middle of hibernation… then Sober Rick is the lean bear after he’s woken up in the spring- empty, mean to the point of cunning, and itching for a fight.  
  
Jax isn’t sure he likes what preferring his girlfriend’s father as a drunk says about his priorities; he’s also not sure why he’s still in class when it’s clear Tara’s not going to show up, and is stacking his shit to leave when she practically bursts through the door with the tardy bell. Castor says something about cutting it close, he thinks, but all he sees is her face; her eyes are slightly swollen, red-rimmed, and shining- she’s clearly been crying. Fuck, she’s actually _shaking_. What the hell happened? The grievances he’d been biting back since her father had disappeared into her house- unable to make himself vulnerable in front of the school at large in the fucking parking lot- wither away temporarily as he grips the desk to rise from his seat, intent on taking her by the hand and pulling her into the hallway to make this right. _Now_. Then, Donna shoots him an incredulous look, like she can’t believe what an utter asshole he is. _Shit._ He probably will agree with her, if only he was aware of what all the fuck he’d done to cause this shit; there’s no way Tara looks like that because he’d given her five minutes of the silent treatment in the parking lot. _Something’s_ going on, but it’s clear from the looks of Tara, Donna- _oh, shit, and fucking Opie_ \- that now isn’t the time to try and talk about it. _Jesus Christ._

He tries to focus his attention on whatever the fuck Castor is going on about- something about Asher’s ancestor, some symbolism shit- but while he’s looking at the teacher, his mind is somewhere else completely. Tara had told him after their only fight, over a blow job, no less- Jax smiles at the memory of how they’d made up- to tell her when something was bothering him. Full disclosure. And he’s up for it, if only with Tara; with anyone else- even Opie most times- he becomes some sort of emotionally stunted prick, capable of little more than brooding and acting on his feelings, unable to fully comprehend them. With her, it’s different; Tara’s always been the only one he can show his whole self to. He just needs a little time to gather his thoughts… _especially_ when the topic is her.

Jax isn’t even aware of the bell ringing until a stack of notebooks drops onto his desk with a thwack; he looks up- Opie. As he scans the room and the students leaving it, there’s no sign of Tara, or Donna for that matter.  
  
“She’s on her way to whatever AP class she has now. You can thank Donna later for getting her ass there.” _Huh?_ Confused, Jax raises an eyebrow at his friend, and Opie sighs. “Tara. She’s pretty shaken up, Donna sort of had to take her by the arm and drag her to their next class.”  
  
“Jesus. What the hell happened?” Opie snorts and shoves the pile of books at Jax.  
  
“I know you usually carry all Tara’s shit, but seeing as how _that_ won’t be happening this morning, you can carry mine. AND Donna’s, she took off out of here after Tara so fast she left it on her desk.” Absently, Jax hefts the pile of into his arms and focuses on the issue at hand.  
  
“So what’s going on?” Opie shakes his head, as if astounded at his stupidity.  
  
“You mean besides that dick move you pulled this morning?”  
  
“Dick move? I mean, I’m _irritated_ with her, I guess, but I didn’t wanna have it out in the goddamn parking lot. I decided saying nothing was better than fighting in front of everyone.” Now Opie’s the confused one- he frowns at Jax and tilts his head.  
  
“Why would you fight with Melissa?” _Melissa?_  
  
“Ope. What the hell are you talkin’ about?” They’re at the bank of lockers now, and Jax absently shoves everything inside his and leans on the door to get it to latch closed.  
  
“ _Melissa._ Her sittin’ on your bike, rubbin’ up on you- hell, kissing your goddamn cheek- you telling me that shit wasn’t for Tara’s benefit?” Aw, Christ. Melissa _had_ been talking to him in the lot after Tara’d left him to talk with David- who’s another, completely unrelated issue. Desperately, he tries to remember their conversation- _any_ of what Ope’s just told him, really- but comes up blank. Much like the entirety of English class just now, his mind hadn’t really been present.  
  
“No, Ope! _Hell_ no, I didn’t try any shit with Melissa just to hurt her. I’m a little pissed off, but I’m not trying to _lose_ her.” Opie stops outside the Shop door, pushes Jax a little.  
  
“Well that could be what you just did. She _saw_ you, man; whether you meant it or not, she _saw_. And _I_ saw her face. That shit didn’t go over well, she’s fucking pissed.” And there it is- the part that doesn’t add up.

“That’s the thing, Ope. If she’s pissed at me, I get that. But when she walked into English this morning, it was more than that. She was fucking _shaking_. Something happened, and I’ve got no idea what.” Ope sighs, leans against the wall next to Jax.  
  
“Me either, brother. If you say it’s more than that, I’ll buy it. And I ain’t gonna ask you why you’re pissed at her, either, because I know your moody ass ain’t gonna tell me now anyway.” After a beat, he pushes himself back off the wall and jerks his head toward the door. “C’mon, man. We’re not gonna figure anything out until we see ‘em at lunch, anyway. Might as well go earn us a couple C’s while we’re waiting.”

Ten minutes into second period, Tara’s name is called over the intercom- she’s to report to the office; Jax freezes. _Jesus, now what?_ Opie shoots him a sympathetic look, probably because the guy knows he’d be losing his shit if he and Donna were in Jax and Tara’s shoes. It signifies the end of Jax’s focus for the period, and he spends most of it at the wire wheel, cleaning a rusty bolt he’d found lying around. Something about the mindless task calms him and by the time the period is over, he’s beginning to see surviving the final two periods until he can see Tara as a real possibility. That is, until the third period Industrial Arts class starts filtering in. The air is abuzz with something Jax strains to catch while the new group retrieves their protective glasses from the far wall.  
  
“Yeah. Right in the face, I guess.”  
  
“I heard it was a full-on brawl.”  
  
“Naw, Jenny Hale said she straight up sucker punched her.”

“Seems weird for a girl like that. Never woulda saw that one comin’.”  
  
“It doesn’t surprise _me_ , really- I’ve been here since before she left. She was always riding around with Teller and Winston, getting into all kinds of shit girls usually don’t. Looks like not much has changed…”  
  
The last kid trails off as someone nudges him and nods towards Jax.  
  
“Hey, Jax.” Someone pipes up, but mostly, everyone is staring at him- waiting, he thinks, to see how he’ll react. He’s glad to oblige them, but first he has to find out what the hell he’s supposed to be reacting to.  
  
“What’s goin’ on?” Jax tries to keep his voice even, measured. He _does_ have a reputation to uphold, no good letting all these guys catch a glimpse of how eager he is to get ahold of whatever information they have that he doesn’t.  
  
“Oh, uh, you didn’t hear?” the same kid from before, the one who’d been talking as if he knew Jax and Opie at all, replies.  
  
“Nah, I _heard_. I just wanted to waste my fucking time listening to it all over again.” Jax can’t hold back the sarcasm and the kid rolls his eyes.  
  
“Sorry, man, I just figured you’da known, since she’s your _girl_ and all.” He sees the look cross Jax’s face and rushes onward. “Anyway, Tara got suspended this morning for fighting Melissa Rourke in the first floor girls room. She’s up in the office waiting on her old man to get back so they can relay him the message to come get her.” Immediately forgetting the kid, he finds Opie’s shocked face behind one of the thick wooden tables; Ope gives him a nod and he stalks out the shop door, leaving the others staring behind him. 


	23. Chapter 23

When Jax reaches the office, Tara’s sitting amongst a bank of metal chairs in the hallway- it’s clear Principal Morgan’s got an angry parent in there from the raised voices carrying into the hall. He sinks down into a chair next to her; Jesus, she won’t even look at him. He sighs and takes her hand, which she accepts, limply, but doesn’t acknowledge.   
  
“Tara, look at me.” She does, her jaw set in a way that reminds him a lot of himself. “Why the hell are you fighting bitches in bathrooms, babe?” He brushes a wisp of hair out of her face and she closes her eyes for a moment, as if formulating a response but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out except a sigh. “Your old man coming to pick you up?” She shakes her head.   
  
“He’s on the road all day today, he probably won’t even get the message until he unloads tonight. I’m probably just going to have to sit with Morgan all day. You know, just add a day of in-school suspension to my sentence.” Jax can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up a little- if someone would have told him this morning that, of the two of them, _Tara_ would be the one in the office awaiting suspension, he’d have said they were crazy. He’s usually the one in and out of the office; he doesn’t think now’s the time to bring this up, however, but he can’t help asking.  
  
“And your sentence is…” Tara sighs.

“Two days, counting the rest of today but only if someone comes to get me before noon. Otherwise, tomorrow and Wednesday. Considering it’s my first offense of any kind…”   
  
“Wait.” Jax thinks back to the first days of school, when she’d had to find an adult to approve her lunch account and other forms. “Didn’t you say Piney was your emergency contact?” Tara cocks her head in thought.   
  
“Yeeeeess…” she says, slowly. “I put him on there when I filled out the contact sheet, I didn’t have anyone else, then.”  
  
“Gimme a minute.” Suddenly determined, Jax jumps up from his chair and heads into the main office. The secretary’s been an acquaintance of Gemma’s since he can remember; though she’s not affiliated with SAMCRO, they’re on some neighborhood committee or some shit together. He flashes her a smile. “Mornin’, Mrs. Seeley. I forgot my Geometry book at home, mind if I call someone and see if they can bring it to me?” Mrs. Seeley, for her part, somewhat reluctantly points at the sign on the cubicle that contains the phone, fax machine and copier. _NO STUDENT PHONE CALLS.  
_  
“Sorry, hon. You’ll have to go down to the atrium by the gym and use the payphone.” She returns to her filing, but looks up again when Jax doesn’t move.   
  
“Please, Mrs. Seeley? My ma is really hoping I’ll do better this semester, and we have a test comin’ up. Education is really important to her, and I don’t want to let her down.” Again, he gives her the Teller smile; not quite as lascivious as the smirk, to be sure, but he’d been using it to charm the adults of Charming since he was a kid- especially the women. He can pinpoint the exact moment she gives in and returns his smile.   
  
“Fine, fine. But be quick- Principal Morgan’s bound to be out any minute and he’s going to be in an awful mood because the Rourkes have been in there for nearly an hour.” _Aw, Christ, the Rourkes._ He suddenly remembers who Tara’s in trouble for clocking; Sean Rourke considers himself the premiere Irish-American businessman in town and he has a fairly longstanding mutual disdain for the club. Jax had overheard him make a snide remark to JT once- something about the Teller family being the definition of a bunch of Micks- but Melissa obviously hadn’t been dissuaded by the same, considering her incessant pursuit of Jax. All the same, it’s a good thing Tara’s sentence had already been handed down, because while the Rourkes weren’t on a par with the Hales, they’d definitely have tried to make things as difficult as possible for anyone associated with a Teller. _Jesus_ , of all people for Tara to haul off and hit…  
  
Jax dials the clubhouse, preparing himself to disguise his voice a bit if Gemma answers on the office phone and feeling a little ridiculous at the same time. Instead, he’s relieved when Piney’s raspy voice rumbles across the line.   
  
“Teller-Morrow.”   
  
“Piney. It’s Jax. Listen… “  
  
Two minutes later, Jax is back in the metal chair, holding Tara’s hand. She’s distant as she has been since he’d been up here, but she’s not shoving him away, either. He’ll take it, for now; they need to talk- he has some shit to say, and it’s now apparent she does as well- but it’ll have to wait until they’re not at school. The clock jutting out into the hallway above the office door ticks, and neither say a word for several minutes. The Rourkes seem to have quieted down significantly, and it’s almost silent in the hallway; Jax wonders idly if Morgan had considered reminding them of the time Melissa had been caught giving old In-Hale head in the coach’s office.  
   
Finally, _finally,_ the front door opens, allowing an almost blinding shaft of light to cross the chairs, and Piney’s hulking form is silhouetted against the daylight. He barely grunts at Jax and Tara, just shuffles into the office. A few minutes later, he reappears with a pink dismissal slip between his fingers and raises his chin in question, glaring at Jax and largely ignoring Tara.   
  
“I don’t even need to ask whether or not _you’re_ involved, do I, son?” Jax stays silent, just shrugs- better to let Tara decide how much she wants Piney to know.   
  
“He didn’t do anything Piney. Well… not _really_. I hit her all on my own, and I’d do it again, too.” A flash of something- maybe pride- crosses Piney’s face before he shakes his head.   
  
“Never thought it’d be _you_ I was pickin’ up for fightin’ in school. Though, with the company you keep, maybe I shoulda guessed.” He chuckles, and Tara picks up the backpack that’s been sitting at her feet, uncertain.  
  
“Thanks, Piney.” She says in her clear voice, eyes downcast. Jax nods in affirmation.  


“Thanks for coming, Piney. If you want, I can take her home- that way, you can get back to T-M…” Piney’s eyebrows raise at this.   
  
“What, son, now that I did the dirty work and signed her ass out, you don’t need me anymore, is that it?” Jax can’t tell if he’s joking, the old man isn’t known for his sense of humor.   
  
“Uh, not really. I was just thinkin’ someone should probably be there when her old man gets home. Sort of diffuse the situation.”  
  
“Jackson…” Tara’s shaking her head already, but he’s not giving her time to refuse.   
  
“Babe. This is at least partially my fault. I want to help.” Again with the head shaking.  
  
“ _Fine_. Can we just go before Melissa’s parents come back out and have more shit to say about how it’s no surprise the town drunk’s daughter is starting fights? I don’t think they’re too happy I only got two days’ suspension.” Exactly as Jax had thought.   
  
“Yep. Let’s get outta here.” Piney narrows his eyes at them, but doesn’t bother to argue, just asks Jax if he’s sure he doesn’t need his school things, which Jax waves off. They follow Piney outside to the truck, which he’d evidently thought to bring instead of his bike, likely to take Tara home. There, Tara hugs and thanks him again before silently following Jax to his bike. The silence doesn’t last long as they don their helmets.   
  
“Guess you didn’t have any trouble keeping my spot warm,” Tara bites, savagely fastening the clip. Jax sighs- Opie had been at least partially right.   
  
“Babe…” Tara crosses her arms furiously.   
  
“Don’t _babe_ me. The _minute_ you’re upset with me- God knows why because you shut me out instead of having the balls to say why- the _minute_ I’m not by your side, some bitch is there ready to take my place. And that’s not even the issue, because I knew all that already- they’re just lined up to take my place, aren’t they? The problem is, you just _sat_ there and let her rub all over you-“   
  
“I didn’t-“  
  
“You _did_. I _saw_ you; and you _knew_ I could see you; that’s the worst part. Were you _trying_ to hurt my feelings, Jackson?” Frustrated, Jax moves to run his fingers through his hair, but his helmet makes it impossible so he jams his hands into his pockets instead.   
  
“I wasn’t trying to deny what _she_ did.” He lets the word 'she' hang in the air for a second. “But I barely remember talking to her, I was working shit through- _our_ shit. I just sort of let her talk at me for a while, and then she got up and walked away.” Tara’s hands grip her arms like a lifeline and Jax can tell this isn’t a good thing.   
  
“You _smiled_ at her, Jackson, gave her that fucking smirk of yours, laughed at some shit she said. And you didn’t think twice when she touched you or kissed you?” _Christ, had she?_ Probably. Over the past couple years, he’d grown used to such attention from girls, barely noticed it after a while- though lately they’d been hanging back and he’d had no desire to change that. _Shit_ , come to think of it, the first week of school, Melissa herself had kissed him and it had pissed him off. Could Tara be right? Had he allowed all that shit to happen with Melissa just to get a rise out of her? He knows in his heart he’d never intentionally hurt her, but after this morning it makes sense he wouldn’t have been averse to getting some reaction- _any_ reaction- out of her. He can sense her growing impatient when the bell rings, ending third period.   
  
“Tara, you’re right. We need to talk about this, but not here; will you come with me?” Tara nods, but her glare remains steadfast.   
  
“Where?” Her voice is short, clipped. He shrugs.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. My place. Your place. Just not somewhere public or we’ll have to answer questions about why we’re not in school.”   
  
“Okay. My house- my dad won’t be back until almost dinner time, and I should talk to him about this suspension thing anyway.” One look at Tara’s face tells him she’s planning on avoiding _that_ as long as possible.

* * *

 

It’s strange, being here in the middle of the day, Jax thinks. Lately, he’s seen her between the hours of six and ten on weekends and maybe briefly on weeknights. _Shit_ , no wonder they’re tense- they’ve been surviving on stolen kisses for weeks now. He’s still not made it into her actual house- he’s currently sitting in her backyard, where he hasn’t set foot since he was a kid. The little playhouse, painted to match the main house, is still here, though it’s looking even more dilapidated than its twin. Memories of himself holding MC court with all the neighborhood kids standing in as bikers- Opie his VP, Tara his Sometimes-Old-Lady/Sometimes-Sergeant-At-Arms- flood him, and he smiles at the thought that their candy cigarettes had been replaced by the real thing. Shifting on the white plastic chair, he reaches into his pocket for his lighter, his hoodie for his cigarettes, and lights one while he waits for Tara. She’d told him she needed to change the laundry or some shit and he’d elected to wait outside so he could smoke.   
  
If there’s one thing he’s noticed about this recent stint of Tara-deprivation- besides the fact that both he and Tara are tense and grumpy- its that he’s smoking a good deal more. It’s not that he finds himself craving nicotine as much as he just needs something to do while he thinks about her; besides handling his urges on his own, so to speak- something he hadn’t had to do regularly practically since he’d discovered it- smoking is about the only thing that’s truly relaxing anymore. Ope had noticed the uptick in the cigarettes, but Jax had shrugged it off rather than reveal any more of his sex life to Opie than he had to.   
  
The smoke curling around his hand, he takes a drag and thinks back to the earlier confrontation in the Knowles driveway. It had pissed him off- actually, had just added to the recent pile of things that had pissed him off- but all he’d wanted was some time to formulate words for his thoughts. The intent hadn’t been to shut Tara out, but then his dumb ass had allowed Melissa to make the proverbial molehill into a mountain. Evidently, Tara had been hurt enough by what she’d seen to get physical, a thought that simultaneously turns him on and breaks his heart a little. He’s used to girls fighting over him, in a way, and the thought of Tara getting possessive is pretty hot, but the whole thing’s gone so far above and beyond anything he’d ever intended when he set out to pick her up this morning. _Christ,_ and now they’re having another relationship talk, when all he really wants to do is spend time with her. This isn’t how he’d imagined his November going when they’d made things official in September.   
  
With a sigh, Jax stubs out his cigarette as Tara rounds the corner of the house. She looks stressed, shaky, and irritable, and yet simultaneously the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. Those jean shorts she’s always wearing make her legs look impossibly long, and her Doors t-shirt is just tight enough to lead him to picture what he knows is underneath it; his dick stirs as she lowers herself into the other chair and eyes him warily. Jesus, even mad at him, she turns him on.

“What was with the silent treatment this morning, Jackson?” Uncertainty crosses her face like a cloud and Jax sighs again, mainly to give himself time to think, to say this in the right way; he’d expected to pick the conversation up where they’d left off- with Melissa. He’s not sure if this line of questioning is safer or not.

“It was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.” She’s suddenly alarmed, her frame sitting rod straight in the chair, eyes flitting over his face, nervously. Almost like she thinks he’s breaking things off. “Not _that_ camel, babe. But it’s been building up for a while now; this _not getting any time with you_ shit, it sucks. Whatever time we _do_ get, your dad’s there, watching, and I don’t know what’s worse- his silence or his criticism. He’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t like me, or SAMCRO. I don’t particularly care, to be honest, because he burnt the SAMCRO bridge a long time ago when he started treating you like shit.”   
  
“If this is about you and my dad…” Jax shakes his head emphatically.   
  
“No, babe. He’s the _cause_ of all this, but I can handle him not liking me. What gets me, though, is how you follow his every command. He spent almost seven years not giving a shit what you did, or where you were, or who you were with. He almost kills himself and all of a sudden since he’s forced to be sober, he wants to dangle these unreasonable rules over your head?”  
  
“He’s still my father, Jackson-“  
  
“I _know_ that, Tara. I do. And I’m not saying don’t have a relationship with him or anything, but all this shit he’s putting you through- basically keeping you locked in the house and giving you supervised visitation with me on the weekends… it isn’t because of you. It’s because of _me_. Our relationship.” He rubs the bridge of his nose with his hand. _God,_ he could almost smoke another cigarette.   
  
“So what are you saying, Jackson?” Tara’s eyes are wide, maybe even a little fearful.   
  
“I don’t even know, Tara. I just… this morning, when he basically called you a slut, accused you of sleeping with hoodlums, _plural..._ You didn’t say anything. That’s not you, babe. When someone gives you shit, you fire it right back at them. But not with _him_ , not today. You just stood there and let him insult you. And- as usual- I stood there and told the world how much I love you.” Her face reddens, but Jax can’t bring himself to feel guilty. “You know how many times I’ve done that now? Told someone or other how I feel about you so they’ll back the fuck off of criticizing what we have?” She shakes her head, numbly. “At least four, babe. I admitted to Ope how I felt even before I had the balls to tell you. Piney had a lot of shit to say about us in the beginning, didn’t trust that you were the real thing for me. JT could see it, I think, but some of the others… they didn’t know how strong it is between us. They do _now_ because I told ‘em how I feel- and that’s shit that doesn’t happen often in SAMCRO. And I told your dad in the hospital. Including this morning, that’s four, Tara. _Four times_ I’ve told people- some of whom were grown-ass men that were pretty pissed off at me- that I love you. And I do, _I fucking love you_ , Tara. So it pisses me off when people don’t take us seriously, or second guess my intentions; it pisses me off worse when they keep us apart or treat you like shit. And _yes_ , it pisses me off when you won’t stick up for yourself, and when you won’t admit the way you feel about me.” Shaking her head, Tara leans forward in her seat, angry now.   
  
“I _do_ admit it. I told David to back off because of you. Hell, I told half the school in the middle of the damn parking lot!” Frustrated, she slaps her hands on her thighs, but Jax is already retorting.

“No, babe. You _kissed_ me in front of half the school. You _laid claim to me_ in front of the school- and I won’t lie, it was fucking hot. It fed my ego- though I’m sure we can both agree it was pretty healthy before that. Same shit with you punching out Melissa Rourke in the goddamn bathroom today-“   
  
“That wasn’t-“  
  
“Let me finish! I’m yours, babe, and you’re mine. The people at school, they know it for the most part, even if a few of those skanks keep trying to push up into you. But I don’t give a _shit_ about the kids at school. They don’t matter. The people who matter- my family, yours, the club, Ope, Donna… why is it that _I’m_ always the one defending us to them? When your father lays down some ridiculous edict and says its because you’re some slut who likes fucking bikers, why am _I_ the only one telling him how much what we have means to me?” Cautiously, he watches as she picks at a thread at the bottom of her cutoffs; there’s a long silence, during which she seems to be steadying herself. Then-   
  
“He’s like a heartbeat sober, Jackson. I just don’t want to do anything that will set him off, get him drinking again. And as much as I want to scream at him sometimes, I always catch myself before I do, because I’m so scared I’ll push him back to his whiskey.” Jax doesn’t know what else to do other than to get up and take Tara by the hand. He settles back into his chair and pulls her into his lap, curling her legs over one arm and pulling her head into his neck with the other.   
  
“That’s one thing I love about you, babe- you care so much for the people around you, even when they don’t deserve it. But his sobriety… that’s his responsibility. _He’s_ the only one that can make that decision, and you can’t walk around on eggshells afraid that the next thing you do or don’t do is going to dump him off the wagon. You can’t let him manipulate you like that. And if he does start drinking again- even if he swears on his life it’s because of something you said or did… he’s full of shit. _He’ll_ be the one that made the choice to pick up the bottle again, not you.” She sighs again, this time into his neck.   
  
“I know. I just… I just want my dad back, sometimes, you know?” Her voice breaks and Jax kisses her hair- he knows. His own father had gone off the rails, but Jax had to admit he’d seemed to be back in the game, lately. Rick, though… if any of them had thought his sobriety would return him to being the father Tara had grown up with before her mom died , they’d been sorely mistaken.  
  
“I know,” is all he can say.   
  
“And I might not toss it in his face like you do, Jackson, but he knows I love you. He just doesn’t _care_ , I don’t think. But you’re right, we’re in this together; I need to spend more time with you, these last few weeks have been killing me.” He chuckles, flexes his hips a little so she can feel the hard on that’s somehow ever-present when he’s with her. Tara shakes her head and sits up so she can look at him. “That’s not even what I meant, I’ve been going crazy in this house with him. It’s like you said, I’m constantly walking on eggshells and its exhausting.” A smile curls her lips. “But, yes, I miss our alone time, too.” As quickly as the smile graces her face, it leaves. “As much as I want to just… drown myself in you for the rest of the day… we need to talk about Melissa, too.” Tara straightens, and moves from his lap back to her chair.   
  
“I’m sorry, Tara. I really am. I said I don’t even remember really talking to her, and I don’t- I was pissed, she was just there, and I was distracted because I was thinking about you. That’s it, really. If you say she kissed me and was rubbing up on me, I believe you, but you gotta believe me that I don’t care about her.”  
  
“Maybe not, Jackson, but just like you need me to own my part in this relationship, I need you to own yours.”   
  
“I’m just so used to them coming around, getting a little too friendly, that they don’t even register anymore. They’re nothing, Tara.” She lets out a huff of air.  
  
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, though- if they mean so little to you, push them away. Tell them you’re mine. You want me to stand up to my father where you’re concerned, you stand up to the skanks and croweaters where I’m concerned. I think that’s a pretty fair trade. Because if I have to watch you smirk back at them like it’s okay, we’re going to have a problem.” He can’t help but smile at this.

“Ask Opie, babe, I’ve been trying to avoid the Pussy Patrol since the end of last year. I’m just lucky you showed up to help. And it sounds like I’m not the only one who’ll have a _problem_ if you’re gonna deck every chick who dares to talk to me.” _Fuck._ That was the wrong thing to say, Jax can tell immediately; Tara’s fists clench and she’s leaning forward in her seat like the only thing keeping her from flying over the table to let him have it is sheer willpower.   
  
“I did not hit Melissa Rourke because I was jealous of her, or to _lay claim_ to you, so you can shove that overinflated ego right up your ass, Jackson. I wasn’t happy about how the two of you acted together, but I see her for what she is- someone desperate for your attention. All the things she had to say- about how I can never satisfy you, how you’re going to be bored with me soon, how _plain_ I am compared to all the girls in the school- those are all things she chose just to get under my skin. She was picking at my insecurities but I saw through her shit; she just made me mad. What infuriated me enough to actually hit her, though… it had _nothing_ to do with you.” Jax can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment, but it’s quickly lost underneath the anger at the awful shit Melissa had dared to say to Tara.   
  
“I-“ She immediately cuts him off.   
  
“ _Save it,_ Jackson. The shit she said about me wasn’t the point. It was when she said she hoped I don’t lose my shit when you leave me like my dad did when my mother killed herself… _that_ was when I hit her. And I’d do it again, like I told Piney. I knew she was low, but I didn’t think she’d actually make up lies about my mom’s death.”  
  
“Christ, Tara, I’m sorry. I swear to God if I wasn’t a guy I’d kick her ass myself.” She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles a little.   
  
“I’m hoping _nobody_ will have to kick her ass. I just wish they’d all leave me the fuck alone. If it isn’t shit about my dad, it’s shit about you and how I’m not good enough. You not giving them the time of day from now on isn’t going to hurt.” Jax sighs.   
  
“I promise, I’ll send that message loud and clear.” They sit in silence a moment, enjoying the mild California autumn, until Jax’s stomach growls and Tara dissolves into giggles.   
  
“I suppose I should feed you, since I’m contributing to your delinquency.” She stands and extends a hand to pull him out of his chair. “Come on, we can make some sandwiches or something.”

The rest of the afternoon is all of the things Jax had been missing about Tara except one, but he’s taking what he can get. He hadn’t had to worry about Rick’s eagle eye once during their crappy afternoon TV marathon, and she’d spent most of it laying on top of him, her head resting on his chest. He’d kissed her whenever he had the urge, and she’d responded eagerly; whenever things got too hot and heavy, she’d just burrow her cheek back into his chest and continue to allow him to get his fill of her. They’re still laying there at nearly six and watching Gilligan’s Island, Jax’s hand on the back of the soft gym shorts Tara had changed into – he’s pretty sure they’re the same ones that had caught his eye that first night he and Ope had watched movies over here, the night he’d kissed her for the first time- when the phone rings.   
  
Groaning, Tara rolls off him, releasing the somewhat satisfying pressure from his ever-present hard-on, and shuffles into the kitchen to answer it. From her half of the conversation, he’s guessing it’s her dad. He’s also guessing it’s almost time for him to go.   
  
“Hello? Yes… no, not yet…I can save-…okay…okay…bye.”  
  
She re-enters the living room, answering the question on his face before he has to ask it.   
  
“My dad. He picked up an extra run out to Oakland, so he’s missing dinner. He said it might be late when he gets back and not to wait up.”  _Fuck yes_ , he’s not going anywhere until he has to. Jax is in the midst of celebrating his good fortune when he catches the look on Tara’s face.   
  
“What is it?” She shrugs.   
  
“Nothing, I just hope that’s where he really is, that’s all.”

“Tara. Stop worrying, there’s nothing you can do even if he’s not telling the truth. And look at the bright side- now I don’t have to take off for a couple hours.” Her eyes darken, somehow, into that deep emerald he only sees when she’s turned on. God, he hopes she’s turned on because he’s practically ready to explode. Tentatively, he reaches for her, an unspoken invitation to pick up where they left off on the couch; she laughs- _Christ_ , even that’s sexy.   
  
“Don’t you want to eat first?” A grin blooms on his face and he’s opening his mouth to tell her tell her exactly what he’s been thinking about eating when her face floods with red.   
  
“Jackson!” Tara can’t help smiling herself, and Jax shrugs from his spot on the couch as she crosses the room to hover over him.  
  
“What can I say, babe, it’s been a few weeks and I’m starving.” To that end, he skims a hand up the back of her leg and underneath the shorts that have been torturing him for the past few hours. She stops his hand and pulls him from the couch, leading him towards the kitchen. “Seriously, I’m not all that…” his voice trails off when he realizes they’re passing the kitchen and she’s leading him down the back hallway and into her bedroom. Jax’s heart rate picks up as it always does when he’s with her and by the time they’re in her room, it feels like it’s about to thump its way out of his chest.   
  
Tara leans against the door and it clicks closed behind her; Jax toes off his shoes but they’re barely off his feet before he’s stepping forward again to lean a forearm on each side of Tara’s head, effectively trapping her against the door. She looks up at him through those thick, dark lashes and he can’t help it anymore- he attacks her mouth, well… like a starving man- angling his head this way and that, running his tongue along her silky inner lip, biting her lower one.

Since the first time he’d kissed Tara- hell, _thought_ about kissing her on that picnic table her first day in town- he’s loved touching her face somehow while doing so. Cupping her cheekbones, sifting her hair through his fingers, feeling her pulse under his palm as he steadied her with a hand just under her jawbone… all came as instinct to him after nearly two months of learning her mouth. Now, though, the only part of him that’s touching her is his lips and somehow, it’s forcing a crazy amount of focus upon the fire he feels in them each time they meet hers.   
  
Jax pauses to catch his breath and Tara’s tongue darts out to tease his lower lip back into her mouth; it’s at that moment his dick surges with impatience and suddenly, he’s dipping at the knees to circle his hips briefly against hers before pushing the hard ridge upwards and into her. Tara lets out a soft sigh as he repeats the motion, the only two points of contact between them his mouth on hers and his hardness against her center. The way she kisses him frantically and slips a hand behind the small of his back as if to encourage him leads him to continue, pressing her against the door with his hips and his mouth.   
  
When their kisses grow too wild and Jax’s hips grow reckless- to the point where Tara’s doorknob rattles a bit with each thrust- he slows and moves his arms from the door, down her sides and behind her. The kiss is lazy, but his mind is not; it’s racing, trying to determine where to go from here. He’d had her against the door, mimicking the act neither of them had had the nerve to approach discussing, let alone _doing_. Somehow, he’s got to change tack; get her to the bed, maybe, so he can get her panties off, maybe get his mouth on her so he’ll have a chance to settle down a little. Or maybe she’ll want him in her mouth, though at this point he’s bound to last about thirty seconds and he knows they have at least an hour before they have to worry about Rick being home-   
  
“Jackson?” she says against his mouth and he jumps, almost guiltily. He doesn’t respond but drops a kiss on her lips, waiting. “Do you have anything?” _Huh?_ Jax’s lust-riddled brain is too twisted up- both in her softness and in his own analysis of their current situation- to comprehend what she’s saying. _Any what?_ She closes her eyes when his brows knit, obviously unsure how else to phrase whatever it is she’s saying. And then he almost passes out when she whispers “A condom.” _Jesus Christ_ , he thinks his heart may have actually stopped for a moment. When he recovers, she’s still staring up at him through those lashes, her eyes wide but sincere. _God, why now?_ He knows they’ve been working up to this but, somehow, he’d thought he’d have more time. _Shit,_ he hadn’t even had the chance to ask any of the guys for advice; undoubtedly, they all thought he’d gotten his virginity out of the way when he’d started disappearing with croweaters, but he’d planned on slyly mentioning wanting to try some new moves or some shit.   
  
And then there’s all the shit Melissa had said to Tara today; he doesn’t want her taking this step because of something that bitch had put into her head. Needing to reassure himself this was something _Tara_ wants, Jax presses a kiss to her forehead, exhales deeply before speaking.   
  
“Babe, why now?” Her eyes meet his, instantly troubled in the waning light filtering through her curtains. “I mean, I don’t want you to think I _expect_ this, especially after M-“ Tara’s fingers fly up to rest on his lips, effectively silencing him.   
  
“This has _nothing_ to do with her. I’ve been thinking about this since… probably since that night at the cabin. I wasn’t ready then… _but I am now_.” His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of uncertainty, any indication she’s trying to force herself into this, but find none. “I want you, Jackson. If _you’re_ not ready, that’s okay, I just need you to tell me so we don’t end up like we did that night at Opie’s.” Now _she’s_ the one assessing _him_ , Jax realizes; he also realizes that this little sobering exchange of words had calmed him, brought his dick back from the edge so that maybe he won’t embarrass himself right out of the gate. He smiles and dips his head to kiss her before asking, one more time.  
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Jackson. I want to know what you feel like inside me.” And with that, he’s gone. Fusing his mouth to hers, Jax walks backwards towards her bed, pulling her along with him; by the time his knees hit the bed, Tara’s unzipping his hoodie and pushing it off his shoulders. They struggle for a moment, each attempting to remove a shirt without parting their lips, but eventually give up and pull their t-shirts off before tumbling onto the bed, already tangled in each other.

Jax can’t help it, his hands want to be everywhere at once; he’s smoothing one up the back of her leg, the other roving up her back until they meet at the front clasp of her bra, which he makes short work of. He pushes her onto her back as it falls open and almost immediately has a pink nipple in his mouth as he scissors its twin between pointer and index fingers. He sucks, lightly, then gives a few deep pulls before nipping gently and moving to the other breast. It receives the same treatment as Tara rolls her shoulder and presses her breast into his mouth. This brings a smile to his face- he’d never thought, at the beginning, that she’d have been the one to initiate this step; but Tara’s starting to prove herself to be more open, sexually, than even himself. And he fucking loves that it’s all been only with him.   
  
Slipping his fingers under the waistband of those damnable shorts, Jax tugs at them until Tara lifts her hips to assist him; they’ve barely cleared her toes before his mouth is on her, massaging her bud with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth entirely. Her hips are already shaking, her legs trembling, and he’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s been able to taste her. He brings her to the edge- until she’s clutching at his hair, her entire body writhing with need- and then he’s kneeling on the bed above her, unfastening his fly and jerking his jeans and boxers over his hips in one go. The near-frantic whimper she’d emitted as his mouth had left her dies away when she realizes what he’s doing. Slowly, he lowers himself onto his forearms, hovering over her a bit so he can kick off his jeans, and his cock finally finds purchase on her soft mound.

Tara’s eyes widen as they touch, intimately, for the first time. They’d done this before, he recalls, with only his boxers between them- but that hadn’t prepared him for just how hot and silky smooth her skin would feel when it was on his dick instead of his fingers. He withdraws his hips, just a bit, and watches as the head of his cock bumps down her slit, dangerously close to her entrance. Experimentally, he pushes forward like he had earlier at the door and she parts a bit as his shaft slides upwards along her heat. He repeats the movement and revels in the sensation of the underside of his cock slides between her lips; he can’t help but watch, doesn’t know how anything could be hotter than this delicious friction, until Tara’s grabbing his hips and whimpering, again.   
  
“Please, Jackson. I want to know the rest.” Fuck what he’d thought, just seconds ago; her face, her eyes, burning with want- want of _him_ \- pleading with him to know all of him… _that’s_ the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen. He rocks his hips against hers once, twice, then reluctantly pulls back to fumble for his jeans at the foot of the bed. He retrieves his wallet, thanking the universe that he’d been an optimist way back when he and Tara had first connected- since the rest of the only strip of condoms he’d ever possessed were in his backpack. The backpack he’d left at school without a second thought when Tara had been suspended.

Tearing open the foil, he finds Tara’s eyes- shining in the moonlight that’s now the only source of light in her room- and doesn’t tear his away as he fumblingly rolls the condom on. Thank fuck for instinct, he supposes. Again, Jax lowers himself onto his forearms and places his hips between her thighs, resting on her mound. Tara’s eyes widen- _fuck,_ is that fear? He has to ask, he doesn’t ever want her to feel like she has to do anything, even if it means he winds up with the world’s worst case of blue balls.  
  
“Tara? Are… are you scared? We don’t have to- I can-“ And she’s closing her eyes and pulling his mouth to hers, then trailing wet, openmouthed kisses across his jawbone.   
  
“I _am_ scared, a little. But that doesn’t mean I want you to stop. Just talk to me, baby. Tell me what to do.” She whispers this in his ear and he almost collapses on top of her in relief. Drawing his head back up, he whispers in return.   
  
“I’m scared too, but I can’t tell you what to do. We just have to figure this out…. Together.” Jax reaches down to position himself at her entrance and as he slowly pushes in, he tells her the one thing he does know about all this. “I love you, Tara …” he trails off as her wet heat envelops him, and though his instinct is to push his way home, he can see that she’s uncomfortable. It goes against everything in him but he withdraws a bit, then moves forward a tiny bit further. He pulls back and moves forward a few times more- inching deeper and deeper each time as he feels her part to accept him- until he’s buried to the hilt inside her. He stills, then, carefully watching Tara’s face; she’s turned her head to the side, her brows drawn together in what he thinks is pain. “Babe, look at me.” Slowly, her eyelids flutter open, and he continues. “Do you want to stop? You’re hurting, _Chris_ t, I don’t want to hurt you….” He shuts up as her hand drifts up to stroke his cheek.  
  
“No, Jackson. Just go slow. Just tell me…” Tara’s whisper fades to nothing as he draws back and pushes forward as slowly, as smoothly as he can manage. She didn’t tell him what, exactly, he is supposed to tell her, so the only words he can manage are his stream of consciousness as he builds a rhythm within her neither of them are familiar with.   
  
“I love you, Tara. So fucking much… You feel so good, you’re the only one… the only one I’ve been inside. Jesus Christ, I didn’t know… Didn’t know it could be like this…” And when she wraps her legs around him, opens herself up to him and repeats his words of love into his ear, its as if she’s granted him permission to love her however he can. He continues to whisper to her- tells her how much he loves her, how good she feels and countless other things he won’t even remember mumbling tomorrow- stopping only to kiss her and let their breathy moans mingle between them.

The tension in his lower back builds and builds as he thrusts into her- no longer able to hold back- and she’s repeating his name over and over, nearly pushing him over the edge until some faint voice in the back of his head reminds him not to go without her. Suddenly desperate to bring her along with him, he shifts his weight and clumsily drags his thumb along her nub until she’s shaking right along with him. Jax topples over the edge first, his hips stuttering even as he pumps into her and fills the condom, but manages the clarity of mind to quicken the motion of his thumb until her body is jerking up to meet his. Tara’s nails dig into his shoulders until he almost comes again at the combination of pain and the sensation of her walls squeezing the life out of his cock. He collapses on top of her, refusing to withdraw as long as he can feel her rippling against him and buries his face into the crook of her neck.   
  
It’s several long minutes before Jax’s breathing evens, and he thinks Tara might be asleep until her fingers lazily thread through his hair, which is slightly damp from exertion. Groaning, he drags his head from her neck and rests his forehead on hers- he hasn’t the energy to move any further.   
  
“Oh my God, Jackson… that was…” Tara doesn’t seem to be able to describe what’s just happened, and Jax doesn’t think he can either. He can’t put into words the feelings that are coursing through him at the moment, can’t describe what it’s like to know that a part of him is currently buried within her. He doesn’t know how to tell her how glad he is that she’s the one he’s shared this part of himself with- not some croweater, not some random blonde- so he decides to show her. Placing his palm on his favorite spot just underneath her chin, he kisses her, gently, but thoroughly, trying to pour every bit of what he’s feeling into the movements of his tongue. When he’s too tired to even kiss her anymore, he withdraws carefully, ties a knot in the condom, and drops it into his jeans pocket along with the foil. No sense in Rick finding something he shouldn’t.   
  
His task completed, he rolls back to Tara and pulls her into his side. She presses a lazy kiss to his shoulder and curls into him, her eyes drifting closed. And somehow, she knows exactly what he was thinking a moment ago, and puts it into words so simple, he can’t believe he didn’t think of them first.  
  
“I’m glad it was you. And I’m glad it was me,” she murmurs before her breathing grows heavy; and with a final, exhausted “Love you, Jackss…” falls asleep. 

* * *

 

Tara jerks awake some time later to the sound of a motorcycle on her street. Probably Opie, she reasons briefly, until she’s struck with just how dark it is outside. _Fuck_. What time is it? Frantically, she shakes Jackson and practically hurdles over him to turn the lock on her door in case her father comes home- _shit_ , she can’t believe they’d fallen asleep. She’s hurriedly putting her shorts and tee back on- not bothering with a bra or underwear- when she realizes he’s watching her, smirking in the darkness.   
  
“You going to start going commando, babe? Now _that’_ s a good look for you.” She wants nothing more than to dive back under the covers with him and share in his banter, maybe let him talk her into another session of her new favorite activity, but the bike sounds to be getting louder and is now rumbling past.  
  
“Jackson! You have to go; I think someone’s here!” Sure enough, a car door slams somewhere outside- probably her driveway- and this seems to spur him into action. “My dad…” she says breathlessly, as Jackson jumps into his jeans and pulls his shoes on. Quickly, he yanks his t-shirt over his head and tosses the hoodie over his shoulder, before freezing.   
  
“How do I-“  
  
“The window. Quick.” Tara crosses the room and unlocks her window. As she hoists it up, she can hear the kitchen door- thank God Jackson had parked in Opie’s driveway instead of hers. He navigates one long leg, then the other, through the window and pokes his head back in, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Go, Jackson!” He shakes his head.   
  
“Not until you give me a kiss.” Exasperated, she drops a short peck onto his lips, then pushes his chest.   
  
“Now go! Unless you never, _ever_ want… that to happen again.” He looks momentarily confused before realization finally dawns on him, and a wicked grin crosses his face.   
  
“Oh, it’s _happenin’_ babe. Love you.” He’s backing away as she stage whispers  
  
“Love you, too” at his retreating form, and then he’s gone, hurrying through the backyards that separate her house from Opie’s.   
  
Tara closes the window and tosses her bra and panties into the laundry pile before silently unlocking her door and diving back into bed, heart pounding. _God,_ all she wants is for her father to go to bed so she can lie quietly and reflect on everything that’s just happened- Jackson’s mouth on her, his bare dick rubbing against her center, inside of her… a flood of warmth pools down low at the thought, and she’s pressing her thighs together for a little relief when she hears voices and freezes.

“I _told_ you back at the bar. I ain’t interested.” Her father; _Christ, has he been at the bar?_ _But who the hell is he talking to in his own kitchen? Is he on the phone?_ The voice that comes in response ruins that theory.   
  
“Well, unfortunately for you, it don’t matter whether or not you’re _interested_.” The voice is male, and dripping with sarcasm. “Though, I’da hoped our friendship woulda been enough to _pique_ your interest, so to speak. But you owe me, and I’m not sure what the fuck I’ve ever done to make you think I’d forget when a favor’s owed to me.” There’s a long moment of silence; the voice sounds familiar, but Tara just can’t place it.   
  
“Yeah, well, your goddamn club has been all up in my shit since the day I landed in the hospital and I’ll tell you like I told the others- what _I_ do is _my_ fucking business and right now, I ain’t drinkin' anymore. ‘Least, not unless I want to land back in a goddamn hospital bed.” _Shit. So it’s a club member._ Frantically, Tara tries to rule out the ones she’d know by ear: it can’t be Piney, she’d recognize his raspy voice anywhere. Definitely can’t be Chibs- there’s no accent- and she thinks she’d recognize JT, too. _Who else is there? A few prospects, that blonde guy Kosack? Kossick?  
_  
“Again, I ain’t askin’ ya. And I don’t give a _shit_ about what’s ya business. Hell, I ain’t even really askin’ ya for the actual favor quite yet. All I need from ya right now is to show ya face down at the Hairy Dog like ya used to- ya don’t have to let one goddamn drop of whiskey cross those precious lips. I got an angle I’m workin’ and this’d really help me out.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Clay. We ain’t been friends in years and you show up at my fucking _work_ , tell me to follow you, and drag me to a goddamn bar when you know good and goddamn well I ain’t supposed to drink. And then you have the balls to ask me for a _favor?_ ” _Clay? What the hell?_  
  
“Shut the _fuck_ up.” Clay barked, all traces of humor in his voice long gone. “Again, I ain’t goddamn _askin’_. Ya weren’t concerned with just how long our friendship’s been… _dormant…_ when ya came to me, beggin’ for help gettin’ ya drunk ass back behind the wheel. Frankly, I think what I’m askin’ of ya is more than fair; and even if it wasn’t, it’d do ya well to remember that I still have friends down at the DMV. It’d be a shame if they were made aware of that recent… _slipup_.” Another long pause, during which Tara assumes her father had nodded since Clay responds “Glad we’re on the same page. I’ll be in touch about the actual _favor_ next week or so. Got some other shit to figure out.”   
  
“Yeah, well, you know where to find me,” Rick spits, clearly not pleased to be agreeing to this.  
  
“Guess I do… _now_. Just make sure ya ass is at the Dog tomorrow afternoon.” The kitchen door slams and Tara can’t make out anything else coming from the kitchen, even before she hears the bike fire up outside. Clay had parked down the block in the opposite direction as Opie’s, she surmises, based on the direction it seems to be headed after he hits the throttle.

 _What the fuck was that about?_ Tara’s mind races. She’d been able to determine that Clay and the club had somehow helped her father, probably after he’d lost his license when he’d gotten his DUI. And now he owed _them_ a favor, but she has no clue what good it’ll to anyone for him to simply show up in a bar. It doesn’t sound like he’s willing to drink- which is good, she supposes- but she’d never imagined SAMCRO would be approaching her father for favors. Jesus, she should tell Jackson… _unless_ JT had ordered Clay to show up here and settle the terms of this favor. She tries to imagine John Teller doing that, given how protective he’d always been of her, and it just doesn’t fit. Still, Jackson and his father finally seem to be on good terms again, and she doesn’t want to ruin it over some stupid favor- especially one as harmless as her father showing his face in a bar he frequented anyway.   
  
Troubled, Tara turns over in bed and tries to push the conversation from her mind in favor of the hour or two that had come before it. She’ll decide what to do about Clay and her father tomorrow, after Rick’s done overreacting to her suspension, she supposes. Maybe Jackson will cut again, and spend the day with her; the prospect of revisiting their earlier activities finally puts a smile on her face. She stretches a bit, feeling the unfamiliar ache down low, and allows just one typical-teenage-girl thrill to jolt through her chest. They’d done it- she’d given her virginity to Jackson, and he’d given his to her. Nobody can ever take that away from them- not Melissa, certainly not her father- and she knows as she closes her eyes that something in them has changed forever as a result. 


	24. Ch 24

“Jackson. It’s time.” Groaning, Jax rolls over and buries his face further into his pillow; there’s a hand jostling his leg. Once there, whoever had been sent to wake him up eases up for a moment, and he’s momentarily distracted by the realization that he can no longer detect Tara’s scent in his pillow or on his sheets.

“Son. Get up.”

Tara. In his bed. In _her_ bed. Last night’s events come rushing back into his mind; blood and a surge of desire comes rushing into his dick. _Christ._ As long as he lives, he’ll never get over the sheer shock she’d induced with the two new words she’d whispered to him last night- _a condom_. He doesn’t know what he’d expected their first time to be like, but somehow he’d never anticipated Tara initiating things. Although, considering just how adventurous she’s always been, how open and eager to learn, and not least how she’d practically demanded to be on equal footing- giving him pleasure just as she received it from him… he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.

The gentle jiggling of his leg grows exponentially more violent as the voice he now recognizes as his father’s gains an edge of irritation.   
  
“If you don’t feel like waking up with a high heeled boot in your ass, you’ll get up now because your mother’s in a hurry this morning. Trust when I tell you you don’t want me to send _her_ in here to get you. Get up!” Jax pushes his thoughts of Tara aside, reluctantly, and rolls onto his back, keeping the comforter over his lap to avoid any awkwardness.   
  
“Christ, dad, it’s the crack of dawn.”   
  
“And time to get ready for school. Your ma has a little breakfast for us, so let’s eat up and show some appreciation before she heads out, yeah?” Breakfast is the last thing Jax wants at this point- he’d rather sink back under the covers and relive last night for the next hour or so- but he can see that his father’s not going to be dissuaded. He nods at JT, who folds his arms expectantly, waiting; apparently, he’s not going anywhere until Jax gets out of bead. _Fuck._ Jax stealthily slips his hand beneath his boxers and does a hasty job of tucking his morning wood into the waistband, then flings the covers off and grabs a pair of gym shorts from the desk chair. Together, he and JT head off down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Gemma’s pouring coffee; plates of eggs and bacon are already set out on the table, along with several muffins. Jax watches as his father eyes his mother appreciatively and crosses the kitchen to encircle her with his arms and drop a kiss onto her cheek.   
  
“Boy’s awake.” Smiling, Gemma turns in his arms and kisses him full on the mouth before reaching for a cup of coffee and tilting it at him.

“Thanks baby. Your coffee.” She turns her attention to Jax as JT sits at his place at the table and reaches for the sugar. “Jackson, you want orange juice?”   
  
“Naw. I’ll have some coffee though.” At this, Gemma raises an eyebrow sharply and puts a hand on her hip.   
  
“You’re a goddamn teenager, Jackson, and caffeine stunts your growth. It’s bad enough your father puts away a half a pot before ten AM, I don’t need you becoming a caffeine addict, too.”   
  
“Really, ma? You’re OK with me putting away a couple beers and a shot at the clubhouse, but _coffee_ is going to stunt my growth? Besides, I think I’m _growing_ just fine.” Smugly, Jax runs a hand down his bare chest; he’s proud of the muscle he’d put on over the summer and he’s become accustomed to being noticed for it- especially by the female population. Gemma rolls her eyes, but smiles a bit as she takes another coffee mug off a hook under the cabinet.  
  
“Jesus Christ, John, how did we produce _this_ little cocky asshole?” JT looks up from his eggs, meeting Gemma’s grin with one of his own.   
  
“Dunno. Probably a natural reaction to some damn good genetics-” JT winks at her “-and the fact that there ain’t a girl in this town under the age of twenty-five that doesn’t look twice when he walks by.” Suddenly, there’s a cup of coffee sloshing in front of Jax, having been plunked down a little too emphatically by his mother, who’s now standing over him with one hand on the table, lips pursed.

“Yeah. _About_ that. I don’t have to to ask you where you’ve been spendin’ your time, Jackson- any fool can see you’re a goddamn goner when it comes to Tara. But you make sure you watch it when it comes to all the others. Your dad said Tara got suspended yesterday for punching the Rourke girl in the face.” She watches carefully for Jax’s reaction; though he’s not sure what he’s expected to say, so he braves a glance at JT.   
  
“Piney.” JT says, simply, and shrugs before taking another sip of his coffee.   
  
“Well, she didn’t really _punch_ her, it was more of a slap, really…” Jax says, lamely. Gemma raises her hands in exasperation and claps them down onto her thighs.  
  
“Doesn’t matter _what_ it was. Fact is, she _hit_ that girl and according to Piney, it was over you. I can’t say I blame her; I’ve wanted to hit that little bitch’s mother a few times over the years, and if you’re acting anything like you were over the summer, I’d guess you probably gave her a good reason to get a little territorial.” Jax tries to protest, but Gemma raises a hand and he thinks it wise to shut up for the time being. “Even though she packs a good punch, apparently, Tara ain’t like all these other girls. She’s not gonna put up with watchin’ you flirt with everything that comes down the block, so I’d suggest you rein in that _Teller charm_ everyone’s always going on about before she finds a reason to show you her _left_ hook instead of showing some skank her right. And that goes double for any friend- or enemy- of the club; I’m definitely going to hear about this at the Beautification Committee meeting on Saturday.” She’s grumbling about goddamn Lucille Rourke and sinking into her chair by the time Jax realizes he’s got an opening to explain the situation.   
  
“Ma. Tara didn’t hit her because Melissa and I were flirting. I mean, we _were_ , and believe me, I’ve already taken my share of shit for it. I was stupid, I get that, and we worked it out. But she hit her because she made fun of Rick Knowles, and then said some shit about how Tara’s mom killed herself.” He pauses, watches the full effect of his words sink in before Gemma retorts.  
  
“Grace Knowles died of cancer-“  
  
“I _know_ , mom. She just said that shit to get at Tara, but it’s probably the one topic that would have led Tara to actually fucking hit someone.”  
  
“ _Stupid bitch…”_ Gemma mutters, more to herself than anyone else. Then, to Jax: “Well, we disagree there. I’ve known that girl since the two of you were five, and she’s not the type to just take shit lying down. If you’re not treating her like you should, things could get messy. God knows, history is full of men that couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants… almost as full of women that have been willing to put them and their skanks in their respective places.” She pauses briefly, but her eyes flick to JT before returning to Jax; Jax notices JT shift a bit in his chair. “So _you_ -“ she points a manicured finger at Jax “-would do well to take this as a lesson, even if Tara didn’t intend it as such.”   
  
“I _got_ it. _Trust_ me. Now can we talk about something else? Such as why I’m sitting here eating breakfast at six AM instead of in my bed, putting off taking a shower?” Gemma smiles indulgently as she takes a sip of her coffee, and Jax can’t help but notice that all the Tellers are sitting at the breakfast table, bantering back and forth and giving each other shit, just like old times. Except, of course, for Tommy’s empty place. Someone had slid the table against the wall at some point, probably to combat the painful slap in the face it had been- for Jax at least- to see his brother’s empty chair sitting there, unused. But somehow, having Tara and his family back had reduced the slap in the face to an occasional ache reserved for moments like this. Jax smiles at his parents and wonders if they’re healing, too, versus merely shoving the pain away they way he knows they all had been. He hopes so.   
  
“Figured you’d need a good hearty breakfast this morning before I head out to Moreno to pay Mary a visit-” _Mary?_ Why’s his mother visiting Ope’s mom?   
  
“Somehow, I doubt that, darlin’,” JT interjects, smirking at her over his mug. “I have a feelin’ you knew you’d be out of town all day and just couldn’t _wait_ to grill Jackson about Tara’s little catfight.” He slides his chair back and moves to stand, mug in hand, until Gemma snatches it out of his hand and crosses the kitchen to refill it herself.

“Watch it,” is all she says, but combines her usual cocked eyebrow with a small smile. JT leans back in his chair.  
  
“Oh, I’m _watchin’_ it, alright,” he says, grinning appreciatively. _Jesus._ Jax doesn’t know what’s worse- thinly veiled insults and cryptic remarks about past hurt… or this. Actually, yeah he does- he hates that he’s been party to some of the things he’s heard recently, and definitely hated the division Tommy’s death and his father’s business in Belfast had forced. It’s nice to see his parents almost back to normal, if not a little nauseating. Gemma hands JT his coffee and drops a quick kiss on his cheek before gathering her purse, cigarettes and car keys from the table.   
  
“You better get your ass in gear, Jackson. You’ll have to be headed to school and you’re _definitely_ taking a shower beforehand. Somethin’ nobody ever warned me about teenage boys is how goddamn stinky they get; I swear, it’s like you went out and ran a mile last night instead of sittin’ over at Tara’s.” He doesn’t know how he manages to keep a straight face as his mother kisses him and stalks towards the kitchen door, but he does it; if JT notices his struggle, he doesn’t say so, just drains the rest of his mug.   
  
“Breakfast was good, Gem, thank you.” He looks pointedly at Jax, who takes a moment to get the hint before scrambling to join his father.   
  
“Shit, sorry. Thanks, mom. You’re the best.”   
  
“Welcome. Gotta keep my boys goin’.” She slings her oversized purse over a shoulder before heading out the door with a “See you later, baby.” JT and Jax sit for a moment, stacking the empty dishes, before JT places his mug on top and checks his watch.   
  
“She’s right, son, its goin’ on six thirty.”  
  
“Uh… Dad? I wasn’t planning on going to school today. What with Tara being suspended and all...”   
  
“Jackson, what did I tell you about going to class? I don’t want you to make the same mistake your mother and I did; you just gotta stick it out a couple a more years and then maybe even college. Education is important, and nobody can ever take it away from you.” Jax rolls his eyes.   
  
“I know that. And I ain’t talkin’ about dropping out or anything. I just… I don’t think Tara got the chance to tell her dad about getting suspended last night- he was, uh, just getting home when I left and Tara was… tired.” JT shoots him a sly look, but focuses on the meat of what he’s said.   
  
“No doubt, he’ll be upset she’s sullying the good Knowles name,” JT snorts derisively.

"Yeah, I’m thinkin’ he won’t take it well. I just want to be there for her, Dad.”   
  
“Oh yeah? That why you need to be over there all damn day while he’s at work?” JT gives him a knowing look, and Jax shrugs.   
  
“Yeah. I _do_. I’m not sure if she’s gonna tell him before he leaves for work today, or when he gets home. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t trust him; I guess we thought he might be a better father once he quit drinking but I think he’s gotten worse. Tara says he’s never hit her before, but he basically called her a whore yesterday and _that_ was just because he caught us kissing.” JT’s face turns stony at this revelation. “I don’t know what he’ll do once he hears about this suspension, but I know he won’t hurt her if I’m there.” JT’s silent for a minute, his jaw working as he runs his hand over his beard. Jax knows he’s turning something over in his mind and swirls his rapidly cooling coffee in silence.

“Alright son. You go, be there for your girl. I’ll handle Gemma and call the school, but don’t expect this to be a permanent arrangement- you go back to school when she does. And as for Rick… I’d handle it myself today, but…”   
  
“Club shit.” Jax finishes. JT nods, unapologetically.   
  
“Club shit. This is a big couple weeks, Jackson. A lot of moving pieces we’ve been setting up for a while now are going to be falling into place, and I’m hoping it will be a big payoff for our family- fewer long runs, maybe a little less friction with other clubs, a little less, uh, _danger_. So I’m gonna be tied up and I think you’re right that he won’t have the balls to put his hands on her with you there, but I want you to promise me that if Rick goes off the rails or hurts her in any way, the first thing you do is get her out of there. The _second_ thing you do is tell me, you understand?” Jax nods, happy to have his father on the same page. “Oh, and honesty is always the best policy- even when it comes to SAMCRO- but if there’s any way you can keep Rick out of the loop, that might be the best bet.” JT winks as he stands, carrying the stack of plates to put into the dishwasher. 

Jax crosses the kitchen to drop his own mug onto the top rack and asks his father the other question that’s been at the back of his mind since he’d heard where Gemma’s headed this morning.   
  
“What’s Ma off to see Ope’s mom about? She’s been bitching about her since she left so I doubt they’re gonna go out for tea or some shit.” JT pauses, running his hand over his beard again, evidently torn regarding how much he should say. He sighs.   
  
“Mary’s been making noise about all the heat the club’s been taking lately.” Jax raises his head in question. He hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary- SAMCRO’s been dealing with the Mayans in some way shape or form ever since he’d been playing Sons on a tricycle, but his parents have apparently been pretty good at shielding him from most of it. JT catches his glance and shrugs. “Shit heats up from time to time, Jackson. If it isn’t the Mayans or the Niners, its someone else. Patched members don’t tell their old ladies much- hell, we don’t even tell the Prospects everything… Piney doesn’t really tell Mary shit, especially now that she split. But he warned her that this deal we’re pushing through is going to happen and I guess that got her worried. I think she figured if he spoke up, it must be big. She’s been wanting Opie to go stay with her for a while, but _now_ she’s insisting.”

 _Holy shit_. Of fucking _course_ this happens now. He’s just gotten Tara back, Opie’s got a girl Jax can actually tolerate, shit’s looking up for his family, even the club is making some sort of deal that will settle things down, according to JT… and now Mary has to fuck things up by taking his best friend away from him? Jax is fuming, unleashing his thoughts before he can stop the words from coming.  
  
“Christ, dad, does she really think that’s what’s best for Ope? Taking him away from Piney, his friends, the club… And even if she thinks Moreno or wherever the fuck she is now is safer because its further away from the club, how the hell is she gonna be able to protect him by herself out there if shit really does go down? Maybe if she’d fucking _thought_ of that before she took off-“  
  
“Son. She _did_ think of it. She wanted to take him with her back then, but Piney talked her out of it, told her how a boy needs his father. She was quick to point out that _my_ ass wasn’t in Charming often enough to make a difference in your life, along with some other shit I probably deserved. But he didn’t let up and she eventually went alone. One reason Gemma’s headed out there to talk to her instead of Piney or someone else is that she needs reassured that we’re all here for Ope; your mother’s the only other woman in Charming that knows the worry and shit Mary’s dealing with, the _only_ one that probably understands her. She’s got this, son. She can explain better than anyone the basics of the shit I’m moving into place to make the Sons safer than it’s been in a long time, reassure her that _you’re_ still here because we believe in this club to keep you safe moving forward, and Ope will be too.”   
  
_Jesus,_ it’s all so cryptic- Jax has never wanted his patch more than he does at this moment. Of course, that would mean he and Ope would be adults- grown men entrusted with the safety of others- and this whole damn thing would be a moot point; still, the desire to know what the fuck is going on- beyond overheard conversations and wild conjectures- is almost overwhelming. JT closes the dishwasher and eyes him carefully.   
  
“ _Soon_ , Jackson. Give it a couple years, give me time to get the club back to how it’s meant to be, and I promise you’ll be there at the table with us, a part of _all_ these decisions.” JT looks pained, and Jax lets his retort about how he’s fucking sick of being in the dark die in his throat. “I… As things stand right now, I’d be tempted to agree with Mary, get you boys far away from Charming and on to something- _anything_ else.” _What the fuck_? JT’s just contradicted everything he’s just said about keeping Ope here in town; does he really not want Jax as a Son?   
  
“You… _Fuck_ , Dad, what are you saying?”   
  
“What I’m _saying_ , Jackson, is that if we weren’t making amends, _fixing_ things, I wouldn’t blame Mary, your mom or anyone else who’d want you or Ope far away from this… this _chaos_. But we _are_. Like I said: it’s a big couple of weeks, and if Mary, your mother… _you_ , can keep some faith and patience, shit will ease up. And before you know it, we’ll be having your patch-in party. I’m just glad the club’s got a while before that happens to set shit straight so when you’re finally a member, it’s of a club I’d be proud of. You understand?”   
  
“I guess. It’s just…” His father pulls him into a quick, but powerful hug, then releases him and claps him on the shoulder.   
  
“I can’t tell you any more, at least not right now. Maybe after things settle a little but it’s not because I don’t trust you, you gotta know that, Jackson. It’s just how things are done- family doesn’t know much and it’s for your own protection; the less you guys know, the less, uh, _others_ can ask you. Your mom only really knows what she needs to tell Mary today.” Jax nods; he guesses he understands, but that doesn’t make this shit any less frustrating. “Now, if there’s one thing Gemma _does_ know, its that it was time for you to get your ass moving at least fifteen minutes ago. If you’re planning to be there to run interference for your girl, you better get over there don’t you think?” Jax nods, then pitches forward to hug a surprised JT once again.   
  
“Love you, Dad.” There’s a moment of silence where he’s pretty sure he hears his father catch his breath. Then-   
  
“I love you too, son.”

* * *

 

Tara awakens to the sound of the Cutlass firing up in the driveway. It’s still semi-dark, and it takes her a moment to focus enough on the red digits of her alarm clock to discern that it’s barely seven. Her alarm’s going to go off in exactly six minutes- since she’d been riding to school with Opie and Jax, her morning ‘commute’ had been drastically reduced- and she’ll handle things then. Then, the Cutlass squeals a bit as her father throws it into drive and she sits bolt upright. _Shit._ She’d forgotten that this was his early day; she’d intended to tell him about her suspension, get it over with and just face the music… but she hadn’t anticipated his being out late last night or leaving early this morning. There was also no way in hell she’d have dared to broach the subject with him after the conversation she’d overheard between he and Clay; even less of a chance she’d have faced him with Jackson’s sweat and kisses still drying on her skin. She’s obviously never lost her virginity before, but she’s convinced he’d have been able to tell, somehow.   
  
Sliding out of bed, Tara crosses to her dresser with its vanity mirror. Turning this way and that, she studies herself for any telltale sign of the events of last night. Nothing, not even a bit of redness at her pulse point where Jackson loves to nip. Leaning closer, she inspects her face; nothing there, either, unless you count the eyes. There’s _something_ , she things; something she sees that wasn’t before; or, maybe it’s just her imagination, because she sure as hell _feels_ different. _Everything_ feels different. The air in her room, the soft graze of her shorts on her thighs, the feel of the old wooden floor under her feet; the world has somehow shifted and nothing will ever be quite the same again. Tara hugs herself and smiles; she’s always liked change.

Tara returns to her bed to pull up the comforter and flushes when she spots a few tiny rust-colored droplets on the sheets. Guess _some_ things are changing, alright, and it looks like the first will be the sheets. She makes short work of wadding them up and tossing them into the laundry basket before heading down the hallway to the stackables in the closet. The sheets are already soaking wet when she’s hit with a twinge of regret that she’ll no longer be able to sleep with even the faintest hint of Jackson’s scent surrounding her. She shrugs it off- she’s pretty sure that makes her a little pathetic- and heads off to the shower, the day stretching out before her with no school.

She takes her time in the shower; despite the fact that this is about the time of day she’s usually getting ready, it somehow feels early, the day new. She skims the washcloth over the same places Jackson had used his hands the night before and smiles to herself. Even _that_ feels new, different, her senses somehow heightened. Tara closes her eyes and trails bare fingertips from her neck across her collarbone to a nipple, down her side and to the thatch of curls below. She shivers, but knows, somehow, she could stand here and chase the sensation until the water turns cold and still fail to recapture the things Jackson had made her feel last night.

It had _hurt_ , at first, and she’d expected it- and the tinge of blood- from her brief conversations with Jenny and Jenny’s cousin while in San Diego. In fact, the cousin had cautioned them that it was awkward and painful the first time, that it took a few times before it started feeling good; she’d also told them that some girls even chose to use up those first few times on a boy that wasn’t all that important- someone experienced- since the guy was almost inevitably caught up in chasing his own orgasm his first time out. But besides the pain, nothing about her experience with Jackson had even remotely resembled Jenny’s cousin’s description.  
  
Jackson hadn’t pushed her into it- though she’s still a little surprised at herself for initiating things. He’d stopped several times to check to make sure she was OK and had only proceeded once he was positive; he also hadn’t been focused only on his own pleasure, though _that_ didn’t surprise her- he’s never been selfish during their mutual explorations. The thing that _had_ shocked her was the rush of sensation she’d felt once the initial pain had subsided, and the pure, unadulterated…. _connection_ \- that’s the only word she can think of to describe what she’d felt when Jackson was finally inside her- that had happened.

 _Well, damn_ ; she’s been in here longer than she’d planned- the water actually _is_ getting cold. Reluctantly, Tara shuts off the shower and steps out, wrapping one towel around herself and another around her hair. The hallway had always been drafty; she remembers practically sprinting to her room after baths as a kid and does the same now, hip checking her door closed before nearly jumping out of her skin when she turns to find Jackson reclined on her bed. The shriek that accompanies it is unholy but he doesn’t even flinch, just grins, his arms behind his head.  
  
“Jesus, babe. You’d think you weren’t _used_ to me in your bed.”   
  
“ _Holy. Shit._ Jackson, you _scared_ me. How did you get in here?” His grin widens.

“You should really lock your window. Who knows what kind of _delinquents_ could be roaming the neighborhood.” She shakes her head, a reluctant smile crossing her own face.

“What if my dad had been here?” Jackson tilts his head, studying her.   
  
“Cutlass was gone. I parked at Ope’s and was going to ring the doorbell like a normal person but then I saw your window cracked open and I couldn’t help it, babe. You pushed me out of it last night so I thought it was fitting to come back in that way.” There’s that cocky grin again, but she knows now that, at least with her, there’s something behind the teasing and the crooked smirk. Tara shakes her head at him as she opens her closet door, simultaneously certain about their connection, of _them_ , and unsure of herself and how to act around someone she’d had sex with- though it was more than sex, she just doesn’t have the words. She stares at her wardrobe, entirely unsure what one wears for whatever it is Jackson has planned; in the rush of his frantic exit last night, they hadn’t discussed today. Plus, what does one wear to hang out with the person they’d lost their virginity to not 12 hours ago? Tara’s still standing there, lost in thought, when she senses him behind her, fingers ghosting over the edge of the towel and barely brushing the spot between her shoulder blades. She shudders, and the contact becomes firmer.   
  
“If you’re cold, babe, you should probably get dressed. But I don’t think that’s why you just shivered.” His voice is lower than it had been just moments ago, rougher. She doesn’t turn to face him, just slowly shakes her head and tilts it toward the hand he’s just rested on her right shoulder. He evidently takes this as an invitation and lightly presses his lips to his favorite spot on her bared neck, sending shivers down her spine once again. “Another shiver. I don’t think this towel’s doing you much good…” Jackson dips his free hand under its edge and up to her hip, before returning to the hem and tugging until it falls away at her feet. Tara moves to turn, desperate to wrap herself around him, claim his mouth with her own, but he holds her still with a hand on her hip and one on her shoulder and leans in again to brush his mouth against her neck.

 As Jackson trails kisses down the center of her back, the irrepressible need to hang her head and arch her shoulders finally manages to edge out the persistent analysis that had been running in her head all morning. Practically gone is the uncertainty about what she’s supposed to _be_ now that she’s no longer a virgin. Her every thought, every emotion, every fiber of her consciousness is focused on his lips brushing against her spine and his lashes flickering after them. When he reaches the base of her spine- the place he’d once told her he imagined inking a crow- she can feel the tip of his tongue there, lingering for a brief moment before grazing the bumps of her vertebrae on the way back up. When his path meets the towel at the base of her neck, he releases her hip to tug it away from her damp hair. Jackson sweeps her hair to the side and is working his way towards her ear when, all of a sudden, her need is too great and she breaks the silence.   
  
“ _Jackson_ … “ That’s all she can manage as he gently bites her earlobe, his hand against her neck the only other touch she can feel.   
  
“Hmmm?” He murmurs against her ear as she inches back slightly to feel his chest, warm even through his shirt.   
  
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” And just like that, the time for shivery, light exploration is over as he turns her- almost roughly- by the shoulder and slams his mouth down on hers. He’s still dressed in his customary loose jeans and t-shirt and they’re standing in the opening to her closet with nowhere for his hips to gain purchase as he presses them against hers, two things she needs to remedy, _now_.   
  
Tara lets Jackson carry on kissing her, reveling in the way his soft lips contrast with the slightest hint of stubble cropping up around his mouth and the utter, driving vigor with which his tongue is swirling around hers, and begins work on his fly. She fumbles a bit with the top button, but manages to slide the zipper down even as Jackson’s hands grip her hips and draw her into him. Nearly desperate to feel his warmth against her instead of fabric, she shucks his jeans and boxers down in one go and grips the hem of his t-shirt.   
  
She can see the moment where Jackson realizes that the only thing left between them is his shirt and he dips his tongue into her mouth one last time before stepping out of his jeans and retreating a bit to cross his arms and pull it over his head. The morning light catches the fine hairs of his chest and she’s suddenly still, unable to do anything other than take him in; from the looks of him, he’s going through the same thing. His Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes travel over her, and he’s the one to finally speak.   
  
“Jesus, Tara. You’re so fucking beautiful.” She blushes a bit, but returns, honestly-   
  
“So are you.” The frantic urge to have him naked before her sated, Tara’s almost casual as she runs her fingers over his chest and down his tight stomach before taking him in hand without a hint of hesitation. His eyes flutter closed as she gives him a practiced stroke, then another, and his head tilts back as she dips hers forward to bestow a kiss upon a pectoral muscle. Before she can move any further, Jackson’s pulling her into his arms and crushing his mouth against hers, his body against her own. She barely realizes they’re moving towards her bed until they’re there and he’s pulling away from her to spread her comforter over the bare mattress. When he’s finished, his eyes find hers and the emotions in them are unmistakable; anticipation, lust, need… and love- behind it all is the love that he’s never shied away from expressing to her and it’s such a drastic contrast to the lonely mess that’s been the last seven years of her life that she can’t stop the tears from springing to her eyes.   
  
“What is it? _Shit,_ are you OK?” Jackson’s immediately concerned and Tara smiles. _God,_ she loves him.   
  
“I’m fine, baby. I’m just so happy you’re here with me, that’s all. God, I’ve never been such a… _girl_.” He chuckles, softly, then tugs on her hand to pull her onto the bed with him.   
  
“Love me,” he rasps as she settles in beside him. Tara wants to tell him she already does, that of _course_ she loves him…. then she grasps what he means and proceeds to begin to show him with her body just how much. Unlike the night before, their kisses are slow, unhurried as they lay side by side. She can see every inch of Jackson in the filtered daylight of her room and revels in letting her fingers play over her favorite parts- muscular shoulders, chiseled chest, his belly with the fine arrow of hair leading downwards, a jutting hip. He’s exploring her in the same way, between kisses, and she shivers as he skims the backs of his fingers over her nipple, down her side, and across her belly before dipping between her thighs to stroke her lightly.   
  
Tara groans, rolling onto her back, and Jackson’s hand follows. His every feature is appealing to her, and his eyes are arguably the most extraordinary she’s ever seen- she’s gotten lost in them during plenty a moment like this; however, since that first night in the cabin she’s spent more time than she’d expected thinking about his hands, his fingers. They’d been the source of her very first taste of pleasure, have held her in passion, love, comfort, and happiness, and damn if they’re not one of the sexiest parts of him. Maybe that’s because she knows nobody else at school or at the clubhouse is probably drawn to them like she is; they’ve also never been subject to just how skilled he is with them. Regardless, she’s spent more than a few nights here in her bed imagining his long, strong fingers stroking her and his big hands skimming across her body just like he’s doing right now.   
  
Struck with the sudden need to make him feel the things she’s feeling, Tara takes him in hand and he falls still as she builds the familiar rhythm they’d learned at the cabin. His breath begins coming in ragged puffs and suddenly, he knocks her hand away and is hovering above her before she can blink.   
  
“Are you… after last night…” He trails off, evidently hoping she’ll catch his drift, but she’s not sure what he’s asking her. “I mean… I don’t know how long you need to wait, after.” _Oh_. She lunges up to kiss him again and almost forgets they’d been talking at all until he pulls away, once again searching her eyes.   
  
“I don’t want to wait, Jackson. Don’t you think we’ve done enough of that the last couple months?” His smile reaches his eyes before it makes its way to his lips,   
  
“Thank God. I want you so much…” He shifts his weight to one arm and positions himself at her center with the other; like the night before, he slides himself against her a few times, spreading her moisture upwards and causing friction that’s so perfect she raises her hips to push against his. Too soon, he withdraws a bit and produces a strip of condoms from somewhere unknown to her and tears one open. It’s on and he’s back, pressing against her folds, before she can blink; his eyes never leave hers as he slowly, deliberately, pushes into her and she gasps at the sensation of him filling her again.   
  
As he begins moving, there’s no pain, no discomfort… just the one she loves inside her; Tara wonders how anyone could ever consider doing this with just anyone, because while this is definitely the most intense sensation she’s ever felt, physically, the _emotional_ is what makes it truly exceptional. Their whispered words of love, of praise, slowly crescendo to soft moans, and then Tara’s sharp cries as he drops his hand to where they’re joined to rub her with a thumb. She’s dimly aware that she’s chanting his name, over and over and should maybe be concerned that the neighbors will hear, but then all thoughts are lost as she dissolves into her orgasm, sharp shards of pleasure knifing through her as she clenches around him, not willing to let the sensation go. His hand leaves her and as he’s bringing it up to brace near her head, she waylays him and draws his thumb into her mouth briefly, tasting mostly herself but also what’s unmistakably _them_.   
  
It’s too much for Jackson, who groans as she bites his thumb before drawing it back down her lip and increases the pace as she presses her heels into his back. She can see the moment when he finally breaks and comes with a throaty groan, throwing his head back and baring his neck as he pumps into her slowly, a few more times. Tara’s torn between watching the ecstasy twist his beautiful features and watching the way they’re meshing together below, but the decision’s made for her when he collapses on top of her, chest heaving.

They lay that way for several minutes- silent, with Jackson’s face in the crook of her neck, pressing occasional kisses there, Tara’s fingers trailing up and down his back as he softens within her. When he finally rolls off to stash the condom away in his things, his absence washes over her like a cold wind. He’s back momentarily, and draws her against his side, reaching over her to turn the unused portion of comforter over them both. Tara can’t help but giggle, imagining the way they must look right now.   
  
“What?” Jackson’s voice is full of amusement and affection as he smiles at her. _God_ , that smile. Tara knows he’s not had it easy this past year any more than she has, and she considers- not for the first time- that she’d do practically anything to keep him smiling like that at her.   
  
“Nothing. I was just thinking we probably look like a damn burrito all rolled up in the middle, here.” He chuckles and kisses the tip of her nose.   
  
“A really sexy burrito. And it’s not my fault you picked today to wash your sheets or some shit- otherwise, we’d be under them like normal people.” _Actually, it is sort of your fault…_ She pushes the thought away in favor of kissing his nose in return.

“What are your plans for the day?” He raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Just finished ‘em.” Tara rolls her eyes.   
  
“Alright, so now that we’ve used the first _ten minutes_ of the day-“ He scoffs in mock offense.  
  
“More like an _hour_ , babe-“  
  
“-what are we gonna do?” He pulls her closer, settles her hip against his, drapes her leg over his body.   
  
“ _This._ For at least a little while, I’m not letting you go. Then, once school lets out, I got something else in mind. You good with that?” She answers by kissing him gently and snuggling closer.   
  
They’ve been laying there in content silence for a while when Jackson speaks, his chest rumbling under her ear.   
  
“What are you planning to tell your old man about the suspension?” _Shit._ Tara had managed to forget why they’re here in the middle of the day instead of at school; Jackson _does_ that to her, more often than not- makes her forget the bad. She sighs.  
  
“I don’t know, Jackson. We both know I didn’t tell him last night and he was gone before I got up this morning. I thought the school would have called by now… but nothing. I guess maybe they figured he’d been the one to send Piney to pick me up yesterday? I don’t know. I guess I’ll just do it when he gets home from work. He’s going to lose his shit, though…” She trails off, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought of her father raging around the house, raging at her.   
  
“Tara…” She shifts back, looks into his eyes as he sighs before continuing. “I know you’re wanting to be honest with him. And I _know_ I gave you a whole speech yesterday about being willing to stand up for yourself, stand up for us. But _this_ … I think it’s one situation where telling someone the truth is going to make things a lot worse for both of you.” _Both of us? How?_ Jackson continues in a rush. “I was talking it over with my dad this morning-“ Oh God, she hadn’t thought about JT or Gemma finding out about all of this. “-and he was the one to suggest that maybe you don’t tell your dad about this at all. He’s already pissed off at the world and has a lot of shit on his plate with everything. And when it comes to you… I don’t trust him, Tara. I know he ain’t drinking now, but I couldn’t handle it if he decides he’s pissed off about all this one night if he starts drinking again, ever. It’s partly my fault, babe, and I don’t ever want him hurting you because of me.” She starts to tell him it was her decision, to remind him of just why she’d hit Melissa Rourke, when she realizes what else he’s saying. He thinks her father might hit her.  
  
“Jackson- my dad’s never hit me or hurt me, you have to believe me.” He shakes his head furiously.   
  
“Maybe he’s never _hit_ you- and like I said, I don’t really trust him to keep it that way- but he’s definitely _hurt_ you. Even if he ain’t leaving bruises on your body, he’s leaving ‘em on your _heart_ , Tara. He’s a bastard and I don’t want him hurting you like that anymore.” His words, which mirror the thoughts she’s had nearly every time her father had raged and said awful things, have tears springing to her eyes again. She knows he’s right, but acknowledging it out loud to him is just the one step she can’t take- he’s still her father even if he’s no longer her Daddy, and while she’s not going to sit in silence while he insults her, she’s not able to say out loud just how much it hurts. She’s silent for a beat, and Jackson continues. “I’m not gonna tell you what you should do, Tara, but I think that this is a situation where keeping quiet is better for both of you than telling the truth.”

Tara nods; it’s actually a relief to have someone else tell her what she’d been turning over in the back of her mind since she’d gotten the suspension. It’s just that it flies in the face of everything she’d been taught as a child and the standards she’d held herself to in every relationship she’s ever had: tell the truth, end of story. Briefly, her mind flickers to the conversation between her father and Clay last night and she can’t help but see the parallels. She loves Jackson, and as an extension of that, loves and respects JT. If he or the club in general is involved in Clay asking Rick to do a favor for the club- especially one that could get him drinking again- telling Jackson can only hurt him. He won’t be able to sway his father or insert himself into club business, but Tara knows he’ll try, for her. She’s just not sure it’s worth the strife it will cause for him.   
  
“How are things with your dad?” she asks, running her fingers between the muscles of his chest. Maybe he already knows something about this, she’s just not sure how to probe.   
  
“Good, actually. Better than we’ve been since a long time before Tommy, I think. He told me a little about the club this morning- I guess they’ve got shit going on, shit that’s going to change the club, make it safer for SAMCRO and all the families. He couldn’t tell me much, but I guess it’s big.” Tara’s mind immediately flies to what Clay had said- _I got an angle I’m workin_ \- that must be what they’re approaching her father about, and she’s more sure than ever that she doesn’t want to screw things up between Jackson and his father, not when they’re finally repairing a couple years’ worth of distance. But all thoughts of Clay fly from her mind with Jackson’s next words, spoken with a wince, almost as if he’s in pain.   
  
“He also told me that Mary Winston is freakin’ out. Wants to get Opie, make him move out to Moreno with her.” _Jesus Christ._ She’s been wrapped up in Jackson since she got back, but Ope’s been her friend since she was 5, too. He’s her steadfast supporter, her unofficial relationship counselor, her sounding board; losing him would be like… losing a _brother_. Her face must have shown some of the thoughts racing through her mind, because Jackson raises her chin and looks into her eyes, his own full of promise. “JT won’t let that happen, Tara. Gemma’s headed out there right now to talk some sense into her, tell her about whatever’s going down and how everyone’s gonna be safer after this deal goes through, whatever it is. He also told me he wouldn’t want me prospecting now with the way things are, but that after this, the club will be something he’s proud of again. I don’t know what all that means yet, but if my dad thinks this will change everything, I believe him. Ope’s not going anywhere, I promise.”   
  
Jackson sounds like he’s promising himself, Tara thinks, but what can she do but hope he’s right? She doesn’t want to think about a Charming without Opie in it, and suddenly, all she wants to do is close her eyes and listen to Jackson’s heartbeat- so steady and sure despite the family flaw he’d been born with- and just _be_. He’s content to do the same, and they eventually drift off to sleep, together. 

* * *

 

“What are we doing up here?” Donna asks for about the fourth time since they’d arrived at SAMCRO’s cabin. Tara and Jackson had met them at Opie’s after school let out and the boys had disappeared briefly before returning with what seemed to be a mission the girls knew nothing about. They’d ridden out of town and had yet to reveal their plan, even with Donna’s incessant questioning as they wait on the cabin’s front steps for Jackson, who’d disappeared moments after they’d arrived.   
  
“If you don’t quit askin’, baby, it ain’t gonna happen. If you need me to shut you up, I will.” Opie says, though the tone of warning in his voice is playful. Donna’s face contorts and Tara’s pretty sure she’s about to tell him just what she thinks about him shutting her up when he leans in and _does_ shut her up- with his lips on hers. Several, smacking kisses later and Tara’s formulating a very dry and Opie-like comment about how she’s about to lose her appetite, when Jackson reappears, his arms full of fishing poles and one very beat up tackle box.   
  
“ _Fishing_?” Donna says, incredulously. “This whole thing’s been about _fishing_? Jesus, if you’d told me that, I’d have stayed back, finished my homework instead.” Opie chuckles and can’t seem to resist kissing her again.   
  
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. _Duh_.”   
  
“I figured Tara could use some time away from everything, you know?” Jackson says, his eyes flitting to Tara. “There’s also nothin’ to do in Charming in the middle of the damn afternoon except smoke up, and I figured we could just as well do that shit up here.” At this, Opie dangles the baggie containing his stash in front of Donna’s eyes, and she smiles, shaking her head at him.   
  
“So this whole thing’s about corrupting the good Catholic girl, then? Oh, and _Tara_ , though it’s too late since she’s already corrupted by Jax’s delinquent ass.” Her eyes are twinkling as she challenges Opie and Tara thinks for the hundredth time just how much she likes the two of them together.   
  
“Nah. Jax ain’t done shit- she’s been cold-clocking assholes since she was eight.” Jesus, they’re never going to let her live this down. “And as for you… I figured I’d get you up here and take advantage of you down by the lake.” Opie pulls Donna into his hips as she smiles up at him.   
  
“Then what are you waiting for?”   
  
“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Jackson scoffs, turning and heading around the side of the cabin. “Y’all need to give it a rest before I lose my lunch.” Opie opens his mouth, probably to remind Jackson of just how many times the two of them had made him nauseous, when Donna silences him with another kiss.   
  
“Let’s get this over with,” she says, not looking like she’s dreading the afternoon at all. And Opie follows with a smile on his face.   
  
They row a questionable looking boat out to a small island inhabited only by a large tree and a couple of battered lawn chairs- evidently, someone had had the idea to fish out here before, but it didn’t look like it was any time recent. Jackson’s still clutching his shoulder from the solid punch Opie had just landed on it after about the third joke he’d made regarding their positioning in the rowboat- Jackson and the girls huddled towards the front, Opie in the back to balance out the uneven weight- and how they’d still had plenty of drag with his big ass. Tara and Donna stretch out in the surprisingly warm November sun while the boys ready the fishing poles.   
  
“Hey Tara?” Donna whispers, eying the boys mock fighting and ribbing each other about their bait setup.   
  
“Hmm?” Tara responds, lazily, enjoying the California autumn.   
  
“You two okay? Are _you_ okay? I mean, you _seem_ fine, but you were pretty upset yesterday morning, and Ope told me some of the stuff that bitch said to you.” Tara raises her head and looks at her, questioningly, and Donna waves her hand. “Jax stopped to talk to Ope last night when he got his bike. But Jesus. I mean… _fuck_ that bitch, Tara. I didn’t know your mom, but Opie says that shit isn’t true.” Tara nods, grimly.  
  
“No, it’s not. And it pissed me off. I’ve never hit anyone before, Donna, but I don’t… I don’t _regret_ it. I don’t know what kind of person that makes me, but I don’t regret it.” Donna reaches over and squeezes her hand.   
  
“It doesn’t make you anything, Tara. You stood up for yourself. Those bitches have been pushing you for weeks, now, and their little leader got what was coming to her.”   
  
“I didn’t have to _hit_ her, though.” Tara whispers. As much as she doesn’t regret hitting Melissa, as much as she’d do it over again if she could, she doesn’t like to think of herself as the girl that goes around hitting people that piss her off.   
  
“No, you didn’t. But nobody is going to blame you for doing it once it gets out why you did it.” Suddenly, Tara can feel something akin to panic rising in her throat, and shakes her head vigorously.   
  
“ _No_ , Donna. I don’t want anyone else to know what she said. Those girls… they _hate_ me. I don’t want them to have any more ammunition against me than they already do- the last thing I need is to hear more lies about my mother’s death. Let them go ahead and think I clocked her because of Jackson, I don’t care anymore. I just want the other shit to stop.” Donna studies her for a moment before nodding in agreement.   
  
“Okay, Tara. If that’s what you want.” She narrows her eyes and tilts her head towards Jackson. “You guys okay? That shit with him and Melissa…” Tara smiles weakly. She doesn’t need Donna going off on Jackson, no matter how much she’d have appreciated it this time yesterday- not when they’ve already worked all this out.   
  
“We talked- about a lot of things, actually. We’re okay, he understands what he did and why it hurt me.” Donna snorts.   
  
“ _Good_. But if this shit happens again, I’m going to need you to let me tell him off, okay? I didn’t get to do it yesterday and I’ve been itching to let someone have it ever since.” Tara can’t help laughing at the thought of Donna, itching for a fight.   
  
“I promise.” They’re interrupted by Jackson and Opie appearing with fishing poles, fully loaded with hooks, artificial bait, and bobbers. Tara takes her pole from Jackson and casts her line expertly, raising an eyebrow in amusement as Donna gapes at her. “My dad used to take me fishing.” She shrugs, pushing away the twinge she feels as she realizes they’ve not done anything together since right after her mother’s diagnosis.

The afternoon is just what she’s needed- full of friendly banter, easy conversation, and peaceful silences helped along by the truly excellent weed Opie had supplied- and as she looks at Jackson packing away their equipment, she can’t help but wonder where she’d be without him. She’d probably have more female friends but she can’t bring herself to wish away him, Opie, and Donna for some theoretical girls. She’d _definitely_ be dealing with her father one hundred percent on her own, a thought that makes her shudder. And there’s no way she’d be in love with anyone, let alone someone that shares this undeniable connection with her. Briefly, she wonders if Opie’s told Donna about his mother’s plans to take him away from Charming- from _her-_ if he even knows, yet. She doubts it, since he’s been his normal, easy self today, and she’s itching to ask Jackson what he thinks. Regardless, though, It’s Opie’s decision when and how he tells Donna, but it’s killing her to watch them- so happy in each other’s presence- and wonder if they’re aware of just how easily all of it could be taken away.  
  
She doesn’t get the opportunity until they’re at the cabin waiting for Donna to use the bathroom before they head back to Charming, Opie having elected to show her inside. She and Jackson are already sitting on his bike though she’s on the front, facing backwards with her arms looped around his neck.   
  
“Jackson…Do you think Opie knows? I mean, about his mom wanting to take him away?” He shrugs, though his face betrays his nonchalance. For all his reassurances, Tara knows Jackson’s fearful of losing his best friend, too.   
  
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, though, since he’s not said anything all day today.” Yeah, that’s what Tara had thought, too. “He said Piney was at the clubhouse late last night and he never does that shit. I’m betting it had something to do with this, though. Whatever he’s going to tell Ope, he’ll probably tell him tonight after he and my dad hear back from Gemma. Give him another night, let me talk to my dad, and then we can decide what to do. Okay?” Tara closes her eyes.   
  
“Okay.” She _hates_ this, keeping things from Jackson, from Opie, from Donna… hell, even from her father. She just has to hope that things with Clay and her father will work themselves out as the club moves in whatever direction it’s going, to make sure Mary feels Opie will be safe in Charming, that Piney’s willing to fill his son in, and that her father never learns of this suspension… or the fact that she’s kept it from him. As they head back towards Charming, Tara can’t help but feel the weight of the secrets, her soul feeling just a little heavier than it had been when they’d left.


End file.
